


Bloody Nights

by Emerald_Fire3510



Series: Blood on the horizon [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, BAMF Hobbits, Blood and Gore, Character Development, F/M, Fix-It, Ghouls, Happy endingish, Hobbit History, M/M, Minor Character Death, Monsters, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-18 17:53:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emerald_Fire3510/pseuds/Emerald_Fire3510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can he let himself do this? Allow himself to fall, when he himself has no ground? </p><p>His race are monsters, even after they settled down. </p><p>They learned words can change everything. Words separated them that from their past grievances against the other races. They changed into the Hobbits that everyone knows of, but can easily change back. Emotions are dear to them, they are like a Hobbit’s Arkenstone, or their Illuvatar’s star.</p><p>Words are taken to the Heart and are felt like a dagger when they are meant to harm, or like a salve when meant to heal. </p><p>Because of this, a Hobbit can only love once.</p><p>Elves go through the 'fading' when their loved ones die, dwarrows may live on, if hollow, without their One. </p><p>But if a Hobbit’s heart is rejected, they turn back into monsters and lose who they used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Instance 1; Orcs and Wargs

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

“ _Hobbits were once known, during their wondering days, as Breitha hîn, or, in common tongue, "Broken Children"._

_They were pale as snow, eyes black as the blood of slain Orc, their veins coursing liquid coal, nails and teeth sharp, hair limp and straight and dark as the night sky, and a constant craving to eat and drink the life's blood of any unfortunate being that crossed their paths._

_Yavanna wept for the fate that had befallen her once beautiful children, for they had been touched by Mordor’s filth, and had succumbed easily to its tainted life._

_Over time, as the horde of bloodthirsty, vile creatures roamed the earth, they found a place greener then what their soulless gazes had ever seen. It grew upon it flowers so beautiful, and wheat so lush, that the sight, slowly, turned the creatures._

_Bit by bit, piece by piece, these creatures morphed and changed, just as their once empty hearts began to fill. The people were discovering things previously unfelt._

_These tricky, vile things that filled their small bodies with love, or hate, changed the creatures._

_They learned song, and dance, but most importantly, they learned how to speak beyond grunts and blood-curdling screeches, and before long, they realized that they were not, in fact, a part of Mordor, but Yavanna’s own children._

_As they changed internally, outwardly, they blossomed._

_Gone were the black, empty eyes that were replaced with whites around hues of blues and greens and browns._

_No longer did they have pale white skin, instead they earned flushes and tones of a strange pigment all but new to them(They later would call it peach, like the sweet fruit that grew upon the trees)._

_Their veins that were once filled with black, turned blue against their skin, and emptied red when cut._

_Their hair grew curly, and changed color. Reds, Yellows, Oranges, Browns, all sorts of color._

_And so-on and so forth, they lost all outward appearances they even remotely resembled their lives before they had found this lush land._

_The last thing to change, was the craving for fresh blood. Once they had tasted the fruit of mortality, the fruit of life, they stayed away, far away from the red ooze that still tempted them all._

_The creatures realized something in this wonderful place; here, they were alone. Here, they had plenty a food, and had not to deal with the giant folk and their tempting, coppery-sweet nectar._

_They no longer wished to cause harm._

_The people grew, and with them, their love of growing things. They farmed, and when they did not farm, they built homes into the vast rolling hills of this new place. This wondrous place._

_But what would they call this land that they have fallen in-love with?_

_Well, not a word could properly describe the place, and so, since they could not come up with a solid name, they called one that was a mix of all._

_The Shire._

_Here, their people prospered. Here, their people stayed. For here, they were exactly as how their Green Mother had designed them, so here, they would always stay._

_Little did they know, that words could take it all away._

_As time passed, and lives and families popped up and grew, the Hobbits discovered an awful truth._

_Outside of the Shire, they were nothing more than the barren, hollow shells they once were._

_They thought that, since their small bodies could only love once, that if they left their beloved Shire, they would change back, and that, is what scared them the most._

_Trapped inside this green, luscious home that they love._

_They wanted to leave, to see the world with this new light in their eyes, but couldn’t._

_Not at least, until, they learned to love People, instead of Land.”_

**_A Hobbit’s history, part 1. 1604 (year 3 in Shire reckoning), made by B.D.B._ **

****

****

****

He remembered his first incident, like it had happened yesterday. He remembered when he first set foot outside of the house with his mother, ready to do the daily shopping. On this particular incident, he had made the mistake of picking a fight with the meanest, nastiest Hobbit Lass of the Shire; Lobelia Bracegirdle.

It had been an accident, and Bilbo would swear it ‘till the day he died, that he had not intentionally bit Lobelia, and he had _not_ started the fight.

 

~*~*~

Belladonna Baggins-ne Took was a strange Hobbit. She went on the most adventures out of all of her Took relatives, often coming back with new scars and a tale or two to tell.

She was an odd Hobbit lass, and everyone was surprised the day she and Bungo gave eahother their hearts and souls in matrimony.

She gave birth to their only Child, Bilbo, a bundle of golden curls and blue-brown eyes.(He looked like the spitting image of Bungo Baggins, his father.) and brought their two prestigious families together, ending her adventuring days in the process.

She also broke the most precious and unspoken law of Hobbit society; Never feed the children anything but food. Human food, not the treats bonded Hobbits often gave each other in the confines of their homes.

She always had a habit of making things difficult.

~*~*~

"But momma, why do I gotta hide 'em?" a seven year-old Bilbo asked his mother, rubbing his eyes as she dressed him to go outside.

"Because, dear-heart, we don't want to scare the others.....Everyone thinks you take after your father more than me, let’s keep it that way." Belladonna Baggins (Took) told her son as she finished doing his vest. 

"But momma, what if I get hungry?" Bilbo asked, eyes watering.

Belladona bit back the coo that had wanted to escape her mouth; Bilbo had the cutest, most adorable doe-eyes in all the Shire. "Just ignore it until we get home, okay? We'll only be in the market for half an hour at most....Now, remember what I told you yesterday?"

"Don't go playing with all the others unless they are Tooks. Don't bite anyone, and don't get hurt. If i get hurt, run home quickly so you can take care of it here. Never let anyone see, and don't go around hitting others with sticks like a knight." Bilbo recited.

"And?" Belladonna pressed.

"Don't eat any bugs." Bilbo said, scrunching his nose in distaste. Bugs didn't taste as good as he thought they would when he last tried them. They looked pretty, like Mr. Gamgee's jelly, but tasted awful. Smiling a toothless smile, he looked at his mother. He was missing two of his canine teeth and a front tooth.

"Good boy." Belladonna said, laughing under her breath when Bilbo scrunched up his nose at the thought of eating bugs. Again. "Now, let’s go outside, hm?" Belladonna said. "Your father should already be waiting in the market for us."

"Okay, momma." Bilbo said, smiling. It was midday by now, so it took a moment for him and his mother to let their eyes adjust to the light. They walked down bag-shot row, and greeted neighbors as they passed. Bilbo ran ahead of his mother, laughing as he followed butterflies and other various flying things around. He hopped up and clasped a butterfly between his tiny hands. Excited, he ran back to his mother, and said "Moma! Moma! Look! I got one!" He looked so happy with himself, and then opened his hand to show his mother.

"Beautiful, Bilbo, but those deserve to be able to fly, so they can be free." Belladonna said, ushering her child to continue walking. 

"Why they gotta fly, momma?" Bilbo asked.

"Why do we gotta eat?" Belladonna shot back.

"'cause we gotta."

"Now you know 'why they gotta fly'." Belladonna laughed as they walked to the market.

 

~*~*~

 

"Bilbo! Bilbo! Come play with us!" A young Adalgrim Took shouted to his cousin, waving him over.

"Ooo, can i momma? Can i go?" Bilbo asked, pulling at his mother's skirts. Belladonna rolled her eyes and said "Oh, alright, just be careful, okay?" Bilbo nodded vigorously before running off, giggling and laughing the entire way to his cousin's side.

"You sure it's wise to let him go play with the others?" Bungo Baggins asked his wife when her attention was back on him.

"I already fed him, and he's going to go play with the Took horde; I'm certain he'll be fine." Belladonna said, sticking her nose in the air and her hands on her hips. 

"Whatever you say, Dear. We just don't want another accident, is all." Bungo said, smiling at his wife.

 

~*~*~

 

While Bungo and Belladonna weren't looking, the kids decided to play 'Orcs and Wargs', a new and well liked game the kids had made. Three kids were deigned the Orcs or Wargs, and the rest were civilians running from the 'raid'. Bilbo, being the ever-present outcast along with Adalgrim and Drogo Baggins (Bilbo’s two favorite cousins), were chosen to be Orc.

Adalgrim is an energetic and rambunctious fauntling. He loved running wild in the fields and climbing trees; playing with sticks and acting like he was a warrior. Drogo Baggins, frankly, is the exact opposite. He is a quiet and calm fauntling, preferring to read books and sit in the school room.

"Ready? Set. Shriek!" Adalgrim yelled, starting the game. The other kids all ran off, squealing in excitement. This game, is a lot like the Human game 'tag', but if you get touched, you become an Orc alongside the taggers.

"Let's go!" Bilbo laughed, chasing Hamfast Gamgee around, the other boy giggling as he ran away. "Imma get you!" Bilbo laughed, running in his usual care-free manner, practically on Hamfast's heels. He reached out to tag him, but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a familiar, high-pitched wail.

"What do you think you're doing,  _freak_?!" shrieked one Lobelia Bracegirdle, the meanest, most stubborn fauntling of them all. Bilbo turned and looked at her, watching with a mix of hatred and horror as she stomped over to him, fuming. "Where's your stupid little friends,  _barefoot?_ " She huffed, crossing her arms and looking down at Bilbo over her long, and pointed nose.

Bilbo glared at her defiantly, blinking away the sting of her words. Why did she always pick on him? What did he  _ever_  do to her? "I'm not a freak! And they're not stupid! And I have way more hair on my feet then you ever will!" Bilbo defended them, as they were away still playing the game unknowing of Bilbo's plunder with the she-devil Lobelia. He looked around, and noticed she had brought her group of friends, consisting of Gerda Boffin, Jessamine Boffin, and Gorbadoc Brandybuck. They were all surrounding him.

"Anyone who thinks you're good company to keep is an idiot,  _barefoot_." Gorbadoc sneered. He was slightly older than them all, and thus, could look down properly at Bilbo without having to make himself look big. Bilbo glared right back. Annoying, yes, loud, of course, but  _barefooted_  was something Bilbo was just not. They should know better than to use that vulgar language, their parents have taught them better than that! "Stop saying that! It's a bad word!" Bilbo huffed irritably at the other fauntlings.

"Shut it, twerp, you can't tell us what to do." Gerda Boffin huffed. She was two years Bilbo's senior, even though she didn't look it. "Why were you messin' with Bell's Hamfast, Huh? You know she's been crazy for him since last year." She added, looking at Bilbo like he had spilled the milk at the dinner table.

"Not that you need to know, but we were playing a game." Bilbo huffed, glaring daggers at the girl.

"Obviously, they were playing "Orcs and Wargs".....Poor little Bilbo, always playing the bad guy.....Don't blame them for forcing you to though, since your nothing but trouble." Lobelia sneered.

"If I’m trouble that makes you bad luck. Go away, tiny toes." Bilbo glowered.

Lobelia turned scarlet, and said "Shut your big mouth,  _barefoot_ , before i shut it for you. You think you’re all tough, just because your Grandpapa is the Thain, but let me let you in a little secret; No one cares about you. Not the Thain, not Drogo, not Adalgrim, not even your parents. You're a stupid, little, useless Oliphant that doesn't get a hint. The other kids don't like you; i don't know why you try." Lobelia said, glaring at Bilbo.

"Take that back right now, you-You stupid, soft footed, food hoarding, big-nosed jerk!" Bilbo yelled, seething. She gasped, and growled out “You first, you horrible, toe-stepping, bare footed, skinny, small-footed, Badger!”

He jumped Lobelia, the two kids throwing hits. The momentum from Bilbo's tackle rolled them down the hill and down in the sludge at the foot of the hill. As they tumbled, Lobelia bit Bilbo, who, in turn, bit her back.

Bad idea.

The taste of blood filled young Bilbo's mouth, and it made him bite down all the harder. He's been hungry since he left home.....And, by Yavanna, this tasted so  _good_. Bilbo didn't notice his eyes dilate to were the color of his irises was gone; nor did he notice how much Lobelia was bleeding into his mouth. Momma always said his baby fangs were pretty sharp, even for a child his age.

Lobelia shrieked, hitting him in the side of the head and making him let-go of her arm with his mouth.

She threw a good-sized rock at the boy’s head, missing it and hitting his collar bone instead.

He growled at her, and got ready to hit her back, before he got tackled by Adalgrim and Drogo.

Lobelia stood on shaky feet and yelled "FREAK! MONSTER!" Before clutching her arm, sniffling, and running off to go get her mother. Bilbo fought against Drogo and Adalgrim for a second, before he broke down and started crying. Not because of the hurts he had, but because of what Lobelia said.  _Momma loves me..._ Bilbo thought, covering his eyes and curling in on himself. The sound of running feet on the leaves had Drogo and Adalgrim backing away from Bilbo, but Bilbo never looked up. He was sobbing and sniffling. He wanted his mother. He wanted to go home. But most of all, he wanted to wash his mouth out because the blood in it tasted too good.

It had been precisely ten minutes before Bilbo heard his mother approach. "Bilbo!" He heard his mother yell furiously. Bilbo flinched, feeling ashamed of himself. "What did i tell you? Drogo, Adalgrim, and Hamfast, all three of you head home to your mothers right this instant, understand?" Belladonna told the three boys, who all nodded their heads and scampered off, scared. "Now, what did i tell you about being careful?" Belladonna said, picking up her son. He had leaves and twigs sticking around in his hair, and already had bruises forming on his body from Lobelia and the tumble. On his arm, there were tiny teeth-sized bite marks that had begun to bleed from where Lobelia had bitten him, and he had a black-eye coming on.

Though, Belladonna wasn't angry over his injuries, they'd be gone in a day anyways, she was worried over the blood that trailed down the corners of Bilbo's mouth. She lifted his chin and examined it, saying "whose is it?" and frowned even deeper when Bilbo flinched.

He looked away from his momma, and shuffled his feet on the ground nervously. He licked his lips and spat out as soon as he swiped up more blood into his mouth. Belladonna sighed and said again, stronger this time “Whose blood is that, Bilbo?”

“….Lobelia Bracegirdle’s…” Bilbo pouted. He bit the inside of his cheek, refusing to look at his mother.

“Bilbo!” Belladonna said, looking ready to yell at the poor sniffling child before he hugged her, crying.

Belladonna sighed and rolled her eyes, picking up the little fauntling. “Let’s go home……Hopefully your father will have your medicine ready when we get home…We think it’s time you started taking your supplements again.”

Adalgrim Took wrinkled his nose in obvious disgust. He remembered those nasty things the elders of the Took clan gave him; nasty, sour things that stuck to your throat and tongue with how dry they were. They made the fauntlings less hungry, but, it also kept the cravings low-key. He felt sorry for his cousin, because by his age, he should be done with taking those vile things. All the other Fauntlings were.

Bilbo sniffled and cried into his mother’s neck as he hugged it. He felt her start to walk, and knew she was taking him home.

When she opened the door and placed the-still crying-fauntling down, she took off his coat as wiped at his face. “Sweet-heart, you need to stop crying.” Belladonna cooed at Bilbo. “You’re going to get a head-ache…” She added soothingly.

“Momma! She’s so horrible! She a-and her friends all started to p-pick on me while I was playing w-with the others!” Bilbo wailed. “They were mean to Drogo and A-Adalgrim when they weren’t around, and then they started to pick on me! They kept calling me Barefoot and Oliphant, before they said you and papa and Grandpa and Drogo and Adalgrim all hated me!” Bilbo cried. “Then she called me a freak a-and a monster!”

Belladonna sighed, and hugged her babe to her bosom, shushing him and saying “My dear-heart, you need to not listen to what others say to you. She only said those things because she was scared, and when people are scared, they do and say foolish things.”

“But m-momma…” Bilbo started to say.

“But nothing. Your father loves you, I love you, and Grandpa, Drogo and Adalgrim all love you. And no matter what that Bracegirdle and her puppets say, we will _always_ love and care for you, understand?” Belladonna said to her child, sternly.

“Your mother’s right, you know. We love you, and Lobelia is wrong. Now go wash-up; both of you. Dinner will be done soon.”

Belladonna and Bilbo groaned; the girl saying very unladylike things under her breath and the hobbitling dragging his feet as they both solemnly walked to the dreaded washroom to get prepared for dinner.


	2. Instance 2; Parties and Polo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys sooo much for all the Kudos and Comments(Especially with being so willing to Beta!) I've been kinda busy, but don't think I've forgotten! This chapter took a little while, but it's up! 
> 
> InsanityxCreation is betaing for this story, and more on that is at the end of the chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter is a little,erm... different? Major warnings for Graphic Depictions of Gore and Violence, a character getting attacked by a creature, and monstrous transformation into very scary creature. Lesser warnings for teenage boy shenanigans and lesser descriptions/mentions of injuries. Also, tiny mention of depression? If you squint
> 
> Seriously, this chapter is graphic, so please, if you don't want to read any Blood/Gore/Violence, skip it. Trust me, it won't bother/offend me if you do. Asterisks outline the most violent section for those of you who can't handle the violence, but can handle the after-math(injuries)with no problem. When you reach the first asterisk, just search for the second one to continue the story. You know what's best for you, so please be cautious. :')
> 
> Note: there is a less graphic description of injuries and mention of blood after the second asterisk

“Goood morning, Bilbo! The sun is shining, the birds are a-singing, and your father is making a beautiful breakfast for us!” Belladonna sang as she opened her son’s curtains, letting the bright morning glow fill his room, chasing the shadows from the night away with its pristine light.

 

Bilbo groaned and rolled onto his stomach, shoving his face into his pillow. He groaned, “Moooooommm... It’s too _eaaaarrrllllyyyy_ …” and then proceeded to cuddle into his pillows. His mother sighed. “Whelp, looks like there won’t be anything around it… UP YOU GET!” She hollered, ripping the sheets off of her son before grabbing his ankles.

 

“Gyah! Mom! Your hands are cold!” Bilbo shrieked, right before he felt the rest of the sheets sliding beneath his stomach. He grabbed at them; this wasn’t the first time she’d done this, and he really didn’t want a repeat of his face on the floorboards. He tried to keep hold of the sheets, until his mother gave one final heave, throwing him down to the ground in a heap. Gangly limbs tangled with the excess amount of linen when he tried to maneuver his body to try and make the impact less... face oriented. It just seemed to make matters worse for him, though.

 

Bilbo groaned, his limbs askew. _Nice, mom, nice,_ he thought bitterly, sitting up and rubbing his face. “That hurt, mom,” he complained.

 

“Quit complaining and go eat your food before bugs get it,” Belladonna huffed. “And get dressed: we’ll have a guest over soon.” she added nonchalantly as she left the room.

 

“Ugh, moooom,” Bilbo whined before getting up and doing what he was told.

 

About five minutes later, Bilbo came out of his room, grumbling under his breath and dragging his feet.

 

“Bilbo, stand up straight, your cousin Polo is coming over,” Bungo told him, giving him the usual critical raised brow as he finished icing the seedcakes, setting them on the table when he was done with them.

 

Bilbo groaned. “Dad, cousin Polo creeps me out.”

 

“You just say that because you aren’t used to him. He’s a good ol’ chap, and you should take a chapter from his book and quiet down.”

 

“He’s too quiet. He doesn’t read, or talk, or even smoke Toby. He just sits there, and stares at you, like a dead fish.” Bilbo huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

 

Bungo raised his brow again at his son, as if he was silently saying ‘really?’ as he said, “It’s a good look, quite respectable might I add. You should try it.”

 

“So you _want_ me to look like a dead fish?” Bilbo asked, raising a brow at his father, who in turn gave him the _“Not Impressed”_ fatherly look. Bilbo sighed and rolled his eyes, then grabbed a seedcake and plopped it onto his plate.

 

“Uh-uh-uh, not before your meds,” Belladonna chided, pushing the dosage of small dried herbs towards her son.

 

Bilbo rolled his eyes  “I don’t see why I have to take these things now, when I never had to before,” he groused, dropping the herbs into his glass of water and watching them turn the clear liquid a dark amber.

 

“This stuff is so gross…” he muttered before he downed the cup as quickly as he could, the bitter taste of the liquid rushing through his mouth and down his throat.

 

“Every young hobbit takes those herbs, Bilbo, you know that. We just started you later then your peers,” Bungo said as he ate his food.

 

“You guys still haven’t told me why we have to take them in the first place,” Bilbo grumbled as he stuffed a forkful of cake into his mouth.

 

“We’ve told you plenty of times.” Bungo retorted. His eyebrows pinched down together in annoyance at his son’s manners. Or, to be honest, lack there-of.

 

“You said we take them because they make us round and healthy and put hair on our feet, which we all know is complete bollocks.” Bilbo groused, drawing out ‘because’, staring his father in the eye.

 

“Bilbo! You do _not_ use that language in this house!” His father barked, looking offended, just as his mother burst into robust and loud cackles of mirth.

 

“Bungo, it’s fine! And see, Bilbo, we have told you. Now eat, Polo will be here by teatime and you need to help me in the garden,” Belladonna said, rolling her eyes at her son when he groaned. He always made it seem like he hated gardening, but he was just in his tween phase, groaning and gripping about every little thing. It made her smile as she and her family finished their breakfast.

 

By Luncheon, there was a knock on the door. Bungo fixed his waist-coat on the walk to the door. He opened it and exclaimed jovially, “Polo, my cousin, it is good to see you!” He hugged the man on his doormat, but the man only patted his arm.

 

“Hello, cousin.” was all Polo uttered, not talking louder than a mutter.

 

“Bilbo! Go get your mother from the backyard, I’ll show Polo to his room,” Bungo said before grabbing Polo’s bags and leading him down the hall --away from the guest rooms.

 

Bilbo watched curiously, but shrugged it off as his dad showing him all around the humble hole, instead of just his rooms.

 

Too bad he didn’t notice the way Polo watched him just as much as he watched Polo.

 

* * *

 

A week later, it was the old Took’s ninety-fifth birthday, and Polo was still with Bilbo and his family.

 

Polo was odder than Bilbo had remembered. He didn’t eat very many vegetables, he skipped the first four meals of the day, and hated going outside. Bilbo’s father spent a lot of time with Polo in the back of the house, and whenever Bilbo tried to follow --discreetly-- behind, his mother would drag him off with one excuse or another. Or Bungo would turn around and “suggest” --more like demand-- Bilbo go and help his mother with what she was doing, and waited until Bilbo actually left before continuing to Polo’s room.

 

Polo rarely spoke; when he did, his voice was rough and scratchy, his words slurred together, and sometimes his words would be broken up with long pauses, like it took him a moment to catch his breath or to think of the words he needed to use to finish what he was saying. If he finished it at all.

 

* * *

 

“I don’t think we should be doing this, Jago,” Bilbo whispered to his companion as he led him further and further from the Party Tree. Jago Boffin was only five years older than Bilbo, and was known around the Shire as a very… _exquisite_ lad. He’s seen up so many skirts, and down so many trousers, he’d lost any and all points for respectability; at least until he settles down and marries, but even then the chances are slim.

 

Not that that stopped Bilbo from wanting to experiment, of course. Jago was one of the most experienced Hobbit lads in the Shire, and Bilbo was more than _happy_ to learn from him.

 

He and Jago Boffin had become quite _close_ , as of late. His parents just thought that they were good friends, but, really, they just liked snogging each other witless.

 

“Quit being such a worry wart; you’re starting to sound like old Tanta. Stop worrying.” Jago chuckled as he pulled some more on Bilbo’s hand, both of their hands fitted snugly together

 

“But Jago-“ Bilbo started. He was abruptly quieted by a kiss on the lips as he was pushed to the ground with Jago on top of him.

 

Jago pushed against Bilbo and their tongues danced excitedly, making Bilbo moan softly and wrap his arms and legs around the older boy. Bilbo threaded his fingers through Jago’s mane of orange-kissed curls. His face flushed as the other boy started rubbing his hips.

 

“Mmm… Say, Bilbo~?” Jago said between trailing kisses from Bilbo’s lips down the flawless skin of his neck and playing with his lower lip, eliciting shivers and breathy gasps from the smaller boy.

 

“Hmmm?” came the noncommittal noise from said Hobbit, who was a little preoccupied at the moment.

 

“Have you… Have you thought abo-“ Jago started to ask, until was interrupted by a “BILBO BAGGINS, WHERE ARE YOU?!” Both boys shrank back, startled.

 

“I-I’m sorry, Jago, but I have to go…” Bilbo said, getting up and looking apologetically at the other boy.

 

Jago sighed and ran a hand through his messy curls. “It’s okay: I’d hate to get on the bad side of your mum anyways.” He stood back up and brushed Bilbo off to the best of his abilities, then did the same treatment to himself.

 

Bilbo smiled softly and kissed Jago sweetly on the cheek before running off towards his mother, who was still calling his name. He looked over his shoulder and said, “Bye, Jago, see ya soon!”

 

Bilbo ran back towards the Party Tree, but froze in his tracks as he met not his mother, but his second cousin once removed, Polo.

 

“Oh, hey, Cousin Polo! You okay? You’re looking a bit peaky,” Bilbo asked as he walked closer to the other Hobbit. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and for some reason, something about Polo seemed…off. “Polo… You okay?” Bilbo asked, stopping a few feet away from the adult.

 

Polo watched him. At least, he seemed to. He was swaying on his feet, like he had had too much to drink. But Bilbo knew he hadn’t had a single drop. _Polo hates alcohol_. Polo looked at Bilbo with a blank expression, just as he had all week.

 

 _Why is he just...standing there and staring at me?_ Bilbo thought, furrowing his brow slightly. Bilbo opened his mouth to ask something else, but, in a blink of his eyes, Polo had him pinned down in the grass. “Polo!” Bilbo squealed, surprised. Polo never rough-housed. Ever.

 

He straddled Bilbo’s hips, hands on either side of Bilbo’s head. Polo let out this weird roar as he looked Bilbo over. “...Polo?” Bilbo said, his eyes widening at the look on his cousin’s face. His mouth was twisted into a snarl, showing off his crooked teeth. Well, most of them. _Why is he missing teeth?_ Bilbo thought. Polo’s pupils were small, showing too much of the irises. He was pale, and his breath smelled foul, like rotten meat, or dead and decaying foliage.

 

*

 

Polo growled out something guttural and unnatural. Sniffing the air, he bent down and bit Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo screamed, pushing at Polo to try and **get him off**. _Oh Yavanna,_ _this hurts!_ Bilbo thought, gasping at the pain. He punched Polo solidly in the shoulder, and the thing only grunted around his mouthful of Bilbo flesh. “W-what the h-hell are you!?” Bilbo shrieked, punching at the thing again.

 

Polo growled again, and grabbed Bilbo’s wrists, pinning them down against the ground violently. There was an explosion of pain in his wrist as the thing --because, to Bilbo, this wasn’t his cousin anymore, it was some sort of monster-- gripped his wrists. It felt like someone was grinding rocks in his bones as the monster pushed his arm against the ground, digging its palm into his arm. It gripped him so tight, his left wrist snapped like a twig, breaking the outer bone. Bilbo screamed again, fat tears rolling down his cheeks because his entire left arm _hurt_. Fire licked in his veins, searing him from the inside out, before being replaced by a cold he had never felt before. The cold itself burnt his veins like the fire, but somehow seemed worse than the hot tongues from before. He screamed again, his voice cracking and fading towards the end. This thing had _claws_ , he now noticed, and they were digging into his wrists, drawing blood from them easily, as if he intentionally sharpened them.

 

Polo ripped his mouth away from Bilbo’s left shoulder, a chunk of flesh between his teeth. He snarled and growled at Bilbo as the poor tween struggled against the hands pinning him down. Blood was smeared around his mouth, coating his lips and his pointed tee-- _Why are his teeth so SHARP?_ Bilbo thought wildly. That thing smiled down at him, blood dripping from between its teeth and around the hunk of skin and cloth in its mouth. Bilbo gagged and attempted to roll to his side in an aborted attempt --he was still pinned, after all-- but managed to swallow down his bile since couldn’t roll over, especially since he didn’t want to lose sight of the creature.  Bilbo gulped, afraid to take his eyes away, because not being able to see what would happen next was, for some reason, worse than actually witnessing what the creature did to him.

 

The thing began chewing on the flesh above Bilbo with mirth shining in its eyes as the boy below it paled even further, trembling because of his fear and amount of blood lost. His mind felt fuzzy and filled with cotton, and his whole body was starting to go numb from the copious amount of blood lost. The tears that continued to stream down his face were joined by snot as Bilbo sniffled and struggled. In a last act of defense, while the thing was chewing his flesh and all but laughing at him, Bilbo kicked it right between the legs, managing to unbalance it --it wasn’t much, but to him, it meant a fighting chance. Bilbo pushed against its hands and threw it to the side. He rolled over and stumbled to his feet, wanting to run to the party and get help.

 

The thing screamed in anger, the pitch high and grating against the ears. Bilbo winced and covered his ears --well, tried to. He groaned as pain licked inside his veins as his left arm twitched at his side; he tried not to move it anymore, now that he knew it would only bring him pain.. His shoulder was throbbing, and everything below his elbow hurt to the point that he didn’t even want the air to touch it. He stood up unevenly, leaning too heavily to the right, and nearly over-balanced, almost causing himself to fall onto his face. He was trying his best to stumble away. Once it stopped screaming, he dropped his one hand and ran as fast as he could to the Party Tree. He heard heavy, uneven footsteps behind himself, and turned his head briefly, only to see that thing chasing him. “Oh Yavanna, give me speed so I can get there in _time_ ,” Bilbo implored, looking up to the heavens.

 

Blood was dripping down his left shoulder, his back felt drenched, and his hair felt wet.  He shuddered. It felt so gross, so _wrong_. Not to mention he felt some droplets too heavy to be tears running down his face. Bilbo moaned in pain. Running hurt; he tried to control the way his arm swung around and hit his body every time his footing slipped, the pain doubling with how his skin seemed to pull around his useless hand. Grey was creeping into his vision, and he knew he was slowing down. Bilbo sobbed, narrowing his eyes to try and get them to focus. He stumbled as one of foot hit the opposite leg’s calf and he stumbled to his hands and knees. Bilbo gasped in pain, more tears springing to his eyes, as pain flared anew into his arm as he landed on it. He used his right arm to claw his way back onto his knees, and then used it to try and push himself up, trying get back on his feet. He could hear the monster closing in on him, and Bilbo, with a bit of last-ditch effort, sprang into action, his feet slapping the ground viciously in the fastest run he had ever done.

 

*

 

He burst into the party tent. He dug his heels into the ground, trying to stop himself, and wound up skidding right into Lobelia Bracegirdle, causing the girl --who had been standing by the drink table-- to collide with it, toppling it over, and coating both herself and Bilbo in various brews.

 

All the music and cheering stopped upon his entry, and, once they could, they saw Bilbo on top of Lobelia, who was groaning in discomfort. Bilbo sat up, blinking rapidly. He swayed as he pushed against his knees, trying to stand, and unsteadily rose to his feet. Just standing there made his head dance, and he blinked even more, trying to dislodge the feeling.

 

His dress clothes were covered in blood, a gaping hole in the left shoulder of his shirt, where blood was trickling out. Blood marred his wrists, little pinpoints that were heavily bleeding. His back was drenched in scarlet, his face splattered with it. His left hand was twisted at an awkward angle, and dirt was smeared all over him.

 

“Bilbo! What in Arda happened to you?!” Aunt Donnamira Boffin-nee-Took exclaimed, flabbergasted and horrified at the sight of her nephew.

 

Bilbo swayed as he took a step forward, his knees shaking under his weight, his eyes blown wide with fear, as he looked towards the flap of the tent where Polo stood outside, glaring in. “S-something a-attacked me! I-i was coming back f-from outside and it just attacked me. A-at first I thought i-it was P-polo, but it wasn’t him.” He gasped, his adrenaline finally wearing off  -and pain exploded into his body, starting in his injured arm. He grabbed at his shoulder tightly, not only to stop the bleeding, but the pain. He just now noticed he couldn’t move his hand, and winced. Belladonna cursed and Bungo sighed as his eyebrows furrowed.

 

“So it happened, huh?” He muttered, looking old and dejected.  Bungo Baggins turned and stood tall and proud, calling out to everyone as loud as he could. “Ladies and gentleman, Polo Baggins has been staying with me and my family since he had his Gift denied. I won’t name the lass --it’s not important now, and it’s too late anyways--, but we didn’t think this would happen so soon. We need to hurry. Ladies, go home with your children, you know what’s happening. Gents, I need help finding him.”

 

The men and women murmured amongst themselves. The men kissed their wives and patted the children on their heads, their faces set in grim lines. The women reached under their skirts, drawing out knives or short swords. Some Tooks even pulled out small, easily hidden projectile weapons. The men reached into their coat pockets or waistbands, doing the same.

 

“J-Jago is out there! I s-saw him out there!” Bilbo exclaimed, eyes becoming bigger as a new wave of panic hit him in the chest at the realization. “O-oh Yavanna, h-he’s in trouble.”

 

“Calm down, Bilbo, we need to take care of you. Your father will find him and make sure he’s safe. We need to get you to TookBorough as soon as possible,” Aunt Mirabella said. The boy nodded and went to follow her, but after one step, his legs gave out. He heaved on the floor, shaking as he began to cry again.

 

For once, Lobelia said nothing about him being a wimp and a crybaby. It was common knowledge Bilbo’s parents hadn’t told him or given him his Gift yet, and the poor boy just had a run-in with the consequences of said Gift. However, she was going to give him hell about how he ruined her _favorite_ party dress.

 

Once Bilbo was standing yet again, Rosa Baggins walked over to him and helped him stay up, putting his right arm over her shoulders. “There there, Bilbo, it’s okay,” she soothed. Bilbo limped next to her, the Took sisters surrounding them as they went back to TookBorough.

 

Poor boy wouldn’t be able to sleep for weeks.

 

~

 

Within an hour, almost every male Hobbit in the Shire was gathered in the Took Clan Smails, standing around a room with Bungo near the wall with the giant map of the Shire.

 

“Longo, I need you to take Isumbras Took, Hugo Boffin, and Gorbadock Brandybuck with you. Go with my wife and her sisters, and look around TookBorough,” Bungo instructed his brother. The man nodded and went to go get the others.

 

“Bingo, take Blanco Bracegirdle, Uffo Bolger, and Rollo boffin, and check the road to Bywater, FrogMorton, and Woodhall,” Bungo told his youngest brother.

 

“Rodigar Bolger, Bodo Proudfoot, Posco Baggins, Losco Baggins, check Brockenborings.”

 

“Hildigrim, take Isengrim, Hildigard, and Isembold. You boys have keen eyesight, and the best stamina of all of us, so go to The Hill and up to Bindbole Wood.” And he listed the groups and search areas like that, never choosing anyone who wasn’t past their majority, and only those who had had the proper training for this type of situation. They were to search everywhere, from Ruchock Bog and Magmeet to Little Delving and Michael Delving, and beyond if necessary.

 

“Everyone else, with me to the road to Breeland. He can’t have gotten far. And keep your eyes open for Jago Boffin! We don’t know if he knows about all of this or not, all we can assume is that he is be being hunted by Polo! Don’t take any chances if you find Polo, do what has to be done!” Bungo yelled as every male in the room scattered.

 

As head of the Baggins family, Bungo swore never to let history repeat itself.

 

* * *

He was afraid.

 

The burning in the back of his throat, the feeling of claws in his gut, filled him as he took in short puffs of ragged air. His calves burned with an aching fire, like molten metal rushing through his veins--without the extra heaviness metal brought. His chest was tight and heavy, the muscles constricting and making it even harder to breath. His body was feeling the strain of his mad dash as he tried to escape.

 

Leaves and dew-covered grass blades crunched beneath his feet, leaves and twigs alike leaving lacerations on his skin and clothing, but he didn’t notice. He turned his head, lips parted just enough to let in short gasps of air. He saw black eyes staring at him through the brush, just as he stumbled. An arm was stretched out in front of him, and he skidded, his body bouncing ungracefully onto the cold, hard, unforgiving ground.

 

“N-no...Oh Yavanna,” he gasped, his chest rising and collapsing hard, his heartbeat a rush in his ears, making it hard to hear the creatures of the night. He tried to pull himself up but when he tried to get his right leg under him, something tugged at his ankle. He looked back, tears streaming down his face, at the upturned root that was clutching his foot possessively. “Let go!” he said hysterically, shaking his leg to try and get it back. The root gripped his ankle and whenever he shook it, the root’s grip became tighter and tighter, as if the tree were alive to hold him back.

 

A growl to his left was the only warning he had.

 

Jago screamed in pain as razor-sharp teeth penetrated his neck--ending the scream and turning it into a strangled, gurgling noise.

 

The leaves overhead rustled as the noises below them quieted down to muted chomping.

 

* * *

 

“Hold him down! Don’t let him thrash around!” Donnamira Took bellowed, rolling her sleeves up as far as they would go, tying her hair back in a hasty bun, and throwing on an apron, as her sisters Belladonna and Mirabella held down a squirming Bilbo by his one useable arm and his two legs. Good thing the lad was thin as thistle and had little to no fat or muscle on his body to begin with, or they would have needed more people to help.

 

As it were, only the three Took sisters knew what and how to do these things.

 

The poor lad was squirming and murmuring jibbered nonsense, his mind feverish and his wounds becoming red. “Someone get me some ginger! Or kava! Hurry! He’s gonna hurt himself If we don’t get him to calm down!” Donnamira growled out to someone, taking a hold of his legs so one of her sisters could get the herbs ready; she was better at setting the bone and stitching the skin, none of that other fancy stuff.

 

Mirabella grabbed the mortar and pestle and ground the herbs, until they were the consistency of applesauce, before adding a bit of water to water it down for the boy to swallow. Mirabella turned to her sister and crouched down beside Bilbo’s moving form. Mirabella winced, imagining the bitter taste inside her own mouth and across her tongue, as she began forcing the bitter plant mix into Bilbo’s mouth and massaging his throat to get him to swallow it. The boy gurgled, and Mira - bless her heart - had to forcibly tilt his head back and make him swallow the horrible juices, a hand under his chin and the other cradling his head so he wouldn’t spit them back out onto everyone.

 

Bilbo gagged, coughing and floundering around on the table. He moved his left arm and howled. He shrieked and wailed until his noises were naught but broken sobs of pain. He went limp under everyone’s arms, and was dead to the world within moments as the herbs’ effects began to take course through his body, forcing him to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo stared blankly out the window to his left, his mother holding his hand as Aunt Mirabella poked and prodded at his wounded shoulder. He was numb; it’d been two whole days since “The Incident” (as his mind so helpfully labeled it) and they still hadn’t found Polo.

 

Or Jago, for that matter.

 

“This will hurt, Bilbo,” he heard Aunt Mirabella say to his left. For some reason though, her voice was muffled, and the only response Bilbo gave her was a small nod of his head.

 

After Aunt Donnamira had fixed up his shoulder and set his arm back into place with a splint (she had said it was a miracle she didn’t have to amputate it, since the bones didn’t feel to be shattered), she left to go an look for her son. Jago was a good lad, she had said, but a stupid one and she’d kill him herself if he got hurt. (Which, in her way, meant she was worried sick and was going to die if she couldn’t find him.)

 

The search came up empty, and Bilbo’s father was at his wit's end with this search. They had people posted at all exits from Hobbiton blockaded and guarded by the bounders who were best at fighting with swords, while the fastest and best with the bow were scouring the woods surrounding Hobbiton on the outside and within. Searching for Polo, but also keeping an eye out for Jago.

 

Alarm bells went off every hour from Tookborough, to remind everyone that theywere still under lockdown. Bilbo knew his mother was praying that the Rangers did not come across Polo and didn’t hear the bells. He heard her at night, when she thought he was asleep, praying to every Valar she could think of, and in every language she could use. If Bilbo were more himself, and not sick with worry and pain, he would be concerned  for her, because she never prayed. His mother was more of a ‘Do what you can, and never rely on others’ kind of woman. But her praying to the Gods as if they would help, was just wrong. She never prayed for help, or guidance, because she knew she didn’t need to. Now, though, it was like it was the only thing she could do to help.

 

Bilbo stared blankly at his mother, who was in turn looking at him, looking at his eyes, his hair, at his nails. She grabbed his arm and held it to where it was next to her own, scrutinizing both critically. She flipped his arm over and gazed at his wrist, running her fingers feather-light over his veins, tracing them until she was unable to.

 

Her shoulders dropped, like a great weight had been taken from her, and when she looked back up at Bilbo’s eyes, hers were watery and shone with relief. “You are not grieving,” she said matter-of-factly.

 

Bilbo seemed to snap out of it a little at his mother’s statement, frowning at her words. “Why should I be?” Bilbo asked, his voice sounding odd to his own ears. He had screamed himself hoarse the other day, and had scratched his throat raw. His mother handed him a cup of milk - goat’s, his mind supplied out of habit - and he drank it slowly, the cold, smooth liquid trailing down his throat and soothing the throbbing pain that was there.

 

His mother smiled thinly. “Bilbo, you’re twenty-three and a tenth, right?” His mother asked instead, looking older and more tired than she should.

 

“...Yes? But I hardly think that is relevant to my question,” Bilbo stated, raising a brow at his mother, who in turn shrugged..

 

“Listen, your father and I need to...give you something important, and after the other night... Well, it’s time we gave it to you and told you the meaning of it,” Belladonna told her son, sitting up straight in her seat and adjusting her skirts - a nervous habit she has had since she was a small lass, one she did whenever she is in a situation she didn’t want to be in. “There is a story to be heard, and a lesson learned in what I am about to tell you, Bilbo. We aren’t supposed to tell you this until your majority, but…..”

 

“I get it, just tell me what you mean,” Bilbo said flatly. He hated seeing his mother like this, all fidgety and tense.

 

His mother narrowed her eyes, momentarily wanting to bare her teeth at him, but then she looked at his profile again and thought better of it - this wasn’t the time for that. She opened her mouth and said, “Every Hobbit, once they reach their majority, is given a gift, or a memento if you will. It’s made by the parents, and it can be an anklet, a bracelet, or a necklace. It’s carved out of wood. And the parents work hard to create it. It’s a representation of the young lad or lass; it shows what other people see when that person is around, and what kind of heart they have. Have you noticed that your father and I both wear one piece of jewelry all of the time, no matter what? The bracelet I’m wearing is the gift your father gave me. The necklace he wears on that leather cord with the rose quartz carnation on it is what I gave him. Our parents had made these for us; they’re not only a coming of age trinket, but a courting gift,” she said somberly.

 

Bilbo nodded, like he understood, but he kinda didn’t. “So...it’s a gift exchange?” He asked, quirking a brow.

 

“It’s more than that, Bilbo,” Belladonna sighed, she ran a hand through her hair and sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if looking for the right answer. She struggled for a moment, starting and stopping with what to say for moments, before huffing and saying, “It’s a declaration; You’re giving yourself, body, heart, and mind, to that person. We don’t- we shouldn’t reject the other, but most of the time the feelings are reciprocated anyways.” Her shoulders sagged, and the back of her head rested on the backrest of her chair. She scratched at her arm, glaring up at the ceiling.

 

Bilbo licked his lips and studied his mother. She was tense- her shoulders taut like a slingshot string pulled back too far, her long dark-brown curly hair tumbling down behind her, crystal blue eyes staring up; focused and searching. He swallowed thickly, a question brewing in his mind. He wanted to ask it, but for some reason he knew he wouldn’t like the answer. “And...if it gets rejected?” He asked hesitantly.

  
  


“Well, Bilbo, you die,” was all she said, her smile thin and haggard. The look she sent him, one full of wisdom and pain beyond her years, told him all that wasn’t said.

 

The death wasn’t easy, nor was it painless, if the look she wore was anything to go by.

 

* * *

 

Polo was found the next day on the trail that lead to the Brandywine: a broken root had been embedded in his chest. His death-stiffened body was draped over the corpse of Jago Boffin, who had a death grip on the end of the root that was protruding through Polo’s chest.

 

The Shire broke under the lost hope of finding Jago alive, and all of its inhabitants grieved for the loss of the two young men.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_“Hobbit culture has changed  in many ways, but the one area it hasn’t changed at all is Courting._

_Every young lad and lass is given a Gift when they come of age. This Gift, depending on the family and gender of the newly eligible adult, can be a necklace, a bracelet, an anklet, or a hairpin that is carved by the parents together. This Gift is not just a coming of age trinket: it is a sign that the child’s heart and mind are mature enough and strong enough to trust themselves with another, and to start courting._

_The giving of the Gifts in Courting is an important milestone in every Hobbit’s life. The Gift is a declaration of one’s love to another._

_If a Gift, for some reason, is rejected then the giver will break. Other races can live after a broken heart, but for Hobbits, a broken heart can and will eventually result in the death of the heart-broken lad or lass._

_Hobbits never leave the Shire because of the risk it has shown to be in the past. Other races don’t understand the Hobbit way, and so they may accidentally  --or intentionally-- hurt us. Humans court thousands before they find the one they will love in their short lives. Elves love strongly, but their love fades over time, resulting in the separation of the couple to the Undying Lands. We know nothing of Dwarves, but it can only be guessed that they love the rocks more than a spouse, and only marry out of necessity, not love._

_Most races would think our Gifts to only be small trinkets to get rid of after a few years, not a place for another’s heart._

_For these reasons, and these reasons alone, we do not --we cannot, let ourselves fall in love with one of another race.”_

__  
  


**_  
A Hobbit’s history, part 2. 1608 (year 7 in Shire reckoning), made by B.D.B. _ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> InsanitysxCreation Is my current beta for the story, and so-far i've enjoyed working with her! You guys should check her out and leave a few comments and stuff.(She's supper nice, i promise, and I'm serious about giving her some love too!) 
> 
> She's helped me out a bunch, so you guys really do need to thank her! 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who commented and 'Volunteered as tribute' to beta! This story doesn't have a set update schedule, i'll just post things when i can!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Yavanna (Palùrien) is the Goddess of gardening and fruits. She's also Aulë's wife.
> 
> Námo (also known as Mandos) is the Judge of death. 
> 
> Melkor (Morgoth) is the big-baddy God that Sauron worshiped. He's the go-to guy for all the bad Wizards.
> 
> Thanks again for everything, guys! I love all of your comments and i'm so happy that tons of people have bookmarked and liked this story!
> 
> Bye!


	3. Instance 3; The Fell Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, here's something to gnaw on! Super sorry guys ;n;; The other half is still in the works, and i'm really sorry it's been forever.
> 
> Trigger warning- talks of family deaths, and some minor blood. Talks of old wounds, and a description of a bad past.
> 
> Enjoy!

_Close friends, in the instance that kin is not available, needs to take care of the grievers._

_At a young age, Hobbits should be told about what to look out for in the instance that one is heartbroken, and who to tell if they see someone someone exhibiting these signs._

_The best way to help in the mentioned instances, is to take the broken one into your home and into the special room that has been made for them in the back of the smial. These rooms need to have stones placed down into the ground, little to no furnishings besides a bed with a metal frame, a hay filled mattress, and heavy wool coverings. You will need to make sure there are no windows, and the only way out is the main door that locks on the outside, not the interior._

_Keep children below the age of thirty away from the room, especially if there is a Broken inside. The Broken, depending on how gone they are, will not hesitate to kill them._

_The time span it takes to change from normal to Broken varies. Sometimes, it takes a handful of weeks, while with others, it could take up to a year. However long it takes, you must watch closely and never let them be anywhere alone. Constantly keep the room clean and the locks in perfect condition._

_Once the second to last phase of the change takes place, it is time to help them meet back with our Mother._

_A quick, painless death is the best thing for them; they already have suffered enough, do not make them suffer any more._

**A Hobbit’s history, part 3. 1615 (year 14 by Shire reckoning), made by B.D.B**

 

  
  
“By the Valar, it is  _freezing_ ,” Bilbo quipped, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his sleeve right before another gust of wind pushed up against him, wracking his small frame with shivers.

“The days are cold and unbearable, the nights even more so. The Rivers are freezing, and the fields won’t grow. What in Yavanna’s name is going on around here?” Bilbo cried out in despair, scrunching up his nose in a mix of disgust and discomfort.

A shiver danced up his spine, making him arch his back and his arms fly up in front of his chest, as if to protect himself. He gasped, his mouth making an ‘O’ shape as the wind pushed and shoved at him, making his body tingle as more goose-flesh arose onto his skin.

The wind ceased for a moment, and that was all the chance Bilbo needed. He ran off in a mad dash up Bagshot Row, jumping the fence that lead up to his home, and running right into the door, grunting. He tried the handle and it was surprisingly locked. He groaned, rolled his eyes up, and heaved a sigh.

Banging on the door, he shouted, “Ma, Pa, let me in! It’s colder than the Misty Mountains out here!”

He heard shuffling and swearing on the other side of the door, and grinned. His mother was probably tripping over the rug, again.

He could hear the sound of the locks being undone, and he waited patiently. Well, as patiently as one could while freezing their toes off. First was the chain lock, the jingling achingly familiar through the door. Then the pad-lock that was way too thick to be normal, and then finally the lock on the knob. The green door swung open and on the other side was a very disgruntled looking Belladonna Baggins-nee Took.

“Can I come in, or are you just gonna stand there and squint at me?” Bilbo asked his mother teasingly.

“You’re late. A whole day late,” Belladonna said in reply, standing to the side so Bilbo could enter.

“It snowed the day before I left, and Aunt Mirabella said I shouldn’t go out there until the day after because she was worried I’d get swallowed by the snow,” Bilbo responded with a chuckle. He shrugged out of the heavy wool jacket he was wearing - borrowed from his father - and squirmed out of the woolen pants his Aunt had given him for his twenty-eighth birthday that were too big for him. His mother raised a brow at him, but shrugged and closed the door, locking it back up again.

“Wargs and Orcs have been spotted in the Green fields. Not many, but enough to cause issue. I’m sure the Rangers will take care of them, but for now as a precaution, keeping all doors locked. No one is going outside by themselves, and certainly not without a weapon. Understood?” his father said as he walked into the hallway Bilbo and his mother were in.

“W-wargs and O-orcs?!” Bilbo stuttered, paling. His mother smiled sweetly at him and patted his shoulder.

“It’s okay, this just means we’ll be having some forced family fun time, yeah?”

“I don’t know what sounds worse… Orcs and Wargs or ‘Forced Family Fun Time,’” Bilbo said, looking at his mother with wide eyes, who in turn hit him on the shoulder while clicking her tongue at him.

“Glad to see that the news hasn’t ruined your teasing spirit,” Bungo said blandly, his expression obviously saying ‘not amused,’ as usual.

“Have you told other families yet?” Bilbo asked somberly. “Everyone deserves to know,” he added quietly.

“We sent out letters to the heads of households yesterday, right after one of my Ranger friends stopped by to tell me. He delivered them himself to the addresses,” Belladonna said gently, smiling.

“That’s good,” Bilbo said, smiling back at his mother, feeling relieved.

  
  
  


 

“How’s your shoulder doing, Bilbo?” Belladonna asked her son later that night as they sat in front of the fire after dinner.She sat in her rocking chair, knitting, while Bungo read a book in his old (and quite ugly) chair, and Bilbo worked on his schooling while lying on his stomach in front of the hearth.

At the question, though, he stopped what he was doing and rubbed at his left shoulder, staring numbly in the fire. He could still remember sharp teeth, the smell of rotten flesh, and the slickness of his blood oozing down his shoulder and arm. He could still hear the frightening rawr of his cousin, the heavy stumbling steps crashing behind him. Some nights, he’d wake in a cold sweat, perspiration soaking him to the bone as his mother shushed and petted his head, calming him down for the terrible nightmares. Sometimes, in his dreams, he _didn’t_ get away, and his screams would fill the night air instead of Jago’s. He’d dream of sharp teeth, and mocking laughter, and he sobbed and was torn bit by bit, until he was not but a gurgling corpse, his last bit of air escaping through his shredded wind pipes.

He swallowed, and suddenly came back into himself as-if he had been away. He took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders. It took a while for Bilbo to answer. Everyone sat in tense silence as he contemplated what to say to her. “It’s not bothering me right now, if that’s what you’re asking,” Bilbo said softly, the palm of his hand slipping under his shirt to rub at the scar tissue.

His mother ‘hmmed’, and continued to rock back and forth in her chair, still knitting her blanket as if she hadn’t just spoken.

It had been five years ago, when Polo had changed. He understood a little better now, but he still had questions. He understand that Polo wasn’t himself, when he did those things. He understood his cousin hadn’t been a hobbit, not anymore, but he still wondered why.

He sighed heavily, feeling smaller somehow, as the flames danced their orange shadows across his face, attempting to chase his ghosts. He looked down at his hands and watched the light of the flames trace the shadows of the creases, seeing his new callouses that had begun to form with his new lessons. His brow furrowed, and he bit his lip.

Suddenly, he sat up and, with shoulders hunched, said, “I’m going to bed,” before quietly padding back to his room, the eyes of his parents on his back and the unanswered ‘Goodnight’s and ‘Sleep well’s following him as he left.

“He obviously has questions,” Belladonna said, some minutes after their son went to his room.

Bungo sighed and put down his book, resting his eyes on the palm of his hand. “I know, dear, I know,” he said.

“We should tell him everything. All the other kids his age already know. He’s practically an adult now, anyways. He deserves to know. We’ve kept him in the dark too long, Bungo, and I-”

“I know, Bell, I know. I just...I don’t know how I can tell him. It’s a scary thing, learning about this stuff, and I don’t want him to swear things off and isolate himself just so he won’t get hurt,” Bungo said to his wife, looking thirty years older than he was. His brow darkened, and he looked haggard.

Belladonna put down her knitting and stood from her seat. She walked over to Bungo and plopped herself down in his lap primly, wrapping her arms around his neck and looking up at him. “I know you worry, dear, but he’ll be fine. He’s a tough boy, and probably the most stubborn, thick-headed, and kind-hearted soul out there. He is our son, you know. He’ll be fine. If you want, I can tell him about it all, and you can just sit next to us and listen while smoking a pipe, adding in bits and bobs to what I’m explaining. Sound like a plan?” she asked him softly, bumping noses with him when his brow furrowed and he looked about ready to argue.

“But, Bell, tradition says that-”

“Since when have I done anything by tradition?” Belladonna giggled, sounding manic and a little too eager.

Bungo sighed, knowing he couldn’t win against a determined Belladonna. Instead, he smiled down at his wife -his love and heart- and asked, “You sure?”

“When have I ever been unsure of my decisions?”

“Well, there was that one time with the dress…”

“Oh hush, you know what I meant. Now, I think I deserve a kiss for my hard work and effort in coming up with a plan,” Belladonna said haughtily, crossing her arms and jutting out her lower lip in a pout.

“Yes, dear,” Bungo said fondly, kissing her forehead sweetly.

“That is not a kiss,” Belladonna whined.

He rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek instead, biting back a smile at her impatient huff. She grabbed him by the front of his night-shirt and kissed him on the lips softly; he grinned. She sighed through her nose and he pulled back, looking happily at his content and slightly flushed wife. She always blushed whenever he kissed her and vice versa; she looked slightly smug, and Bungo pushed a piece of grey-streaked hair behind her ear.

“I love you,” he said softly as she nuzzled her head beneath his chin.

“I sure hope you do,” she answered into his chest, moving her arms around it to hug him. After a moment, she muttered softly back to him, “I love you, too, Bungo,” her arms tightening around his torso. He grinned and put a hand on the small of her back, resting his cheek on top of her head. He watched the flames, a feeling of dread trailing into his soul.

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Knock knock knock.**

 

Bungo sat up in bed, blinking as he turned on the oil lamp that sat on the bedside table

 

_**Knockknockknockknockknock.** _

 

“Who in Middle Earth could be knocking at this hour?” Bungo asked himself, untangling his wife from his body.

“Mmmm, Bungo, where you goin’?” Belladonna asked from the mattress, not even bothering to sit up. She yawned and looked at the wall clock. “It’s not even mornin’ yet, come back to bed my love,” she said tiredly.

“Someone’s at the door, Bell,” Bungo said, slipping on his trousers and tucking in his shirt. His voice was quiet, but cold, and she sat up, looking at Bungo worriedly.

“Take your sword,” she whispered.

“Go stand guard at Bilbo’s door with your crossbow, Bell. I’ll be right back,” Bungo said, grabbing his sword from its sheath and padding down the hall to the door. Belladonna grabbed her crossbow but, instead of waiting by Bilbo’s door, followed behind Bungo quietly, staying in the shadows of the smial.

Bungo looked out the peephole of their green round door, and, upon not seeing anyone, slowly began to unlock it, sword at the ready. Once he was at the last lock, he swallowed and slowly undid it, before ever-so-slowly opening up the door.

There, on the porch, was Adalgrim Took himself. “Adalgrim, what in the blazes are you doing here at such a late hour?!” Bungo whispered angrily, grabbing the boy and pulling him inside the smial, before slamming the door and locking it. He held a candle up to the boy and gasped at what he saw.

“Adalgrim...What happened to you?” he asked, tracing the forming bruise on the side of the boy’s head. Tear tracks littered his face, and dried blood flaked on his clothes.

“M-ma and P-pa….Mr. Baggins….T-they told me to r-run and get help, but i didn’t k-know where else to g-g-g-go…” The boy hiccupped, before bursting into tears, sobbing into his hands. Bungo placed his sword and candle down, and pulled the boy to his chest, shushing him and rubbing circles into his back. 

“You can stay here for the night, if you wish, Adalgrim,” he said softly, and the boy sobbed even harder, his shoulders shaking and his knees quivering. From the corner of his eye he saw his wife sweep into the room from the hallway that lead to the bedrooms. His wife frowned, her eyes examining the boy’s state with the critical eye only a mother seemed to posses.

“Come on, Dear, let’s go and get you cleaned up, fed, and then you can try and tell us what happened. Seem fair?” Belladonna said softly, taking Adalgrim by the shoulders and letting him lean on her as she took him to the bathroom to do exactly what she had said. A hot bath would probably do the boy some good, anyway, since it was so cold out, and he must have come all the way from Tookborough, a full day’s travel away from Bag-end.

 

 

 

An hour later, Bilbo was awake and sitting at the table, staring at Adalgrim as the boy in turn stared at his food blankly.

“Adalgrim? Are you okay?” Bilbo asked his cousin softly.

Adalgrim looked up at Bilbo. His eyes seemed hollowed out and hopeless. “The Orcs and Wargs attacked the outer Took smials,” he said softly, his words a cold whisper digging its nails into the their backs.

Belladonna’s eyes widened, and she took a step towards the boy. “I-is everyone alright?” she asked.

“Ma’s dead, and Pa sent me here to tell you,” Adalgrim said, his voice’s pitch changing before he hiccupped and covered his face with his hands, his shoulders shaking as he wept. His long, curly brown hair fell over his hands and curtained his face.

Bungo gasped and collapsed into a chair, his legs unable to hold him up. Rosa was...dead. She was the only one who had supported his choice in Belladonna being his heart, she had helped plan their wedding. She even went with Belladonna on her walking holiday to Bree before the both of them got pregnant!

Belladonna went to the child and rubbed his back as he cried, pulling him into her chest and cooing, petting his hair as he sobbed into her bosom. Her thoughts went to Bungo’s cousin (admittedly, Rosa was the one she favored over all her other in-laws) and felt the pang of loss.

Hildigrim was her brother (older than her by several years), and was married to Rosa. Everyone knew how much the two loved each other, and she knew, if he survived the Orcs, he would need them. “Shh, Shh, dear boy, all will be well,” she murmured into his scalp. “Your mother loved you, and your father shall be back to get you,” she added softly.

The boy shook his head no as he cried. After a while, he told them what his father had told him.

_“Go to Bungo’s, my boy, and tell him what has become of Rosa. Try and find shelter, and if you can’t, then, continue on to Breeland, or even Rivendell, and ask for help. We will need aid, in this dark time. If you go to Rivendell, ask for Elrond, and tell him, and only him, what has become of the Shire. We will need his aid, and the aid of his allies, for the loss of our people will be great._

 

 

  
  


Belladonna knocked on the door, shuffling her feet awkwardly. Bungo had taken Adalgrim out to the road where Breeland and the Shire met; he said the boy needed to get away for a bit, and go somewhere that didn’t remind him of his parents. They had had Adalgrim over for a week and a half now. Bungo had sent a letter to their more...ahem...adventurous cousins, and they were meeting them at the fork in the road, so they could take Adalgrim into their custody.

She decided that, while Bungo was helping the poor lad, she would talk to her son.

“Yeah, mom?” Bilbo said, opening the door.

“Can I come in, sweetheart?” she asked sheepishly. She had her knitting in her arms, and she grinned innocently at her son, who in turn looked at her suspiciously.

“Suurre….?” he said, standing to the side of the door to let his mother in.

She grinned, coming into her son’s room with her head held high, a wide smile on her face. She sat down on her son's bed, next to where she assumed he had been, judging by the array of books spread around in an arch.

When Bilbo joined her again, she grinned and said, “Now, Bilbo, I know you have some questions, and it’s about time I answered them.”

“....Okay?”

“So? Ask away!” Belladonna said, smiling happily at her son. He blinked at her, a brow raised, as he sat down next to her.

Bilbo chewed his lip, looking at his mother apprehensively. What should he ask? He didn’t know where to begin. “What happened to him, Ma, that made him change? Why did Polo change?”

“He...He changed the way he did because of what Chica had done to him, sweetheart,” Belladonna said, biting the inside of her cheek. She kept her knitting supplies to her side, in a basket, and did not reach for it to begin her task.

“What did she do?”

“She broke his heart.”

“Wait, what? She broke his heart and he turned into a monster? Was he always like that?” Bilbo asked incredulously.

“It’s something everyone can be, when it comes to us Hobbits, Bilbo.”

“We turn into monsters?” Bilbo asked, his voice sounding small and childish; scared.

Belladonna sighed and said simply, “You turn into what your cousin Polo became: a _Breitha hîn_ , as the elves used to call them. It means ‘Break Child’, but when we translate it into Westron, we say ‘Broken Children’. It’s...why he came to stay with us. He was rejected, Bilbo, and the girl never changed her mind.” Belladonna sighed, looking over at her son. 

“What’s that got to do with _anything_ that has happened?” he asked incredulously.

“When we get rejected, Bilbo, we never can recover from it unless the person changes their mind before it’s too late and in turn accepts the gift and gives their own in return. That never happened to Polo; he was left with a broken heart. Broken hearts kill us, Bilbo. Not just us adults, it kills anyone. Haven’t you ever wondered why not many of us leave the Shire? Why most of us are suspicious of outsiders and almost hostile towards them? They don’t know about the past of our people; the only ones who know or remember our people’s past on this Earth are The White Council. The Valar and those people are the only ones who know, and who’ll probably ever know,” Belladonna said.

Bilbo’s eyes were wide, and his skin slightly paler than its usual pigment. “Wait, what?” he asked dumbly. “What past? Haven’t we always been here? Haven’t we always been how we are?” he asked her, his eyes moving about her face for a trace of a joke.

“No, we haven’t always been here, nor have we always been as we are. Our past is a horrible and dark part of our people that we must never forget, Bilbo.

"The reason why we never leave the Shire and don’t trust other races is because we cannot trust them. They don’t know how easy we can break. Humans date around like it’s nothing, throwing the word love around like it’s as light weighted and easy as saying ‘Food’. Elves love once, but once their love dies, they can Fade, or go to the Undying Lands; their lives can continue, if but meekly. Dwarves have what they call a ‘One’, but they can live on with the rocks and gems they covet if that ‘one’ dies. Besides, Ones are rare and most dwarves never find that One. We can’t live without each other, history has shown us that. We haven’t always been so...lively, Bilbo," Belladonna said, her voice unwavering and strong; her eyes shone with a conviction Bilbo had not seen before.

The boy swallowed thickly, something dreadful and heavy filling his stomach.

"We used to live far away, in the Anduin Valley. We were split into three tribal groups: The Harfoots, Stoors, and the Fallohides. The Harfoots were the shortest, with darker skin, and refused to wear shoes. They settled beneath the hills; that’s where we got our pension for living in smials. The Stoors had facial hair, and lived near the water and often settled there. The Brandybucks are the family closest to relation with the Stoors in that respect. The Fallohides were taller, and fairer, than the others. They never grew facial hair, and they settled near the forests; often times, they had been mistaken as little elves. For the clan’s first few years of living, they were starting to turn into what Eru had made them to be, and what Yavanna wanted them to be. But, something happened, no one knows what, but it was something bad," His mother sighed the last part, leaning back and looking that the ceiling; her head rested back against the headboards of his bed. Her eyes glared up at the roof over their heads, mouthing words to herself to try and get a feel of what to say next to her silent son.

"All of a sudden, they weren’t Stoors, or Harfoots, or even Fallohides, but monsters. Ghoul-like creatures; they didn’t care for the trees Yavanna made, nor her azaleas, calla lilies, and even her beautiful Carnations held no sway. They held no love for things that grew. They only seemed to crave the destruction of the living. They had been tainted by Sauron. Long story short - you’ve already seen the changes that happen to us - we were no longer Yavanna’s and Eru’s creations, but tainted monsters that worked for Sauron, spreading fear among the free peoples of middle earth, and into the hearts of those who had not forgotten the great battle. The Elves had taken to calling us _Breitha hîn_ , Broken Children. Because that’s what we were, broken children no longer able to see their mother.” Belladonna shrugged, all of a sudden feeling tired. Her head rolled to the side, her eyes searching out the window for nothing in particular.

“We found the Shire, after years of wondering, and the land healed us. Not completely, because, as you saw with Polo, we still have that part of us that changes, but we are able to be… We were able to become as close as we could to what our Green Mother wanted us to be. We could be normal,” Belladonna finished, turning her head back to her son, smiling weakly at him.

“Normal?” Bilbo asked incredulously, a dazed kind of look in his eyes. “What’s normal about this?” Bilbo gestured with his hands wildly, his eyes blown and his breathing erratic. He clutched at his chest with one hand and gripped his hair with the other, feeling as if he were going to start into a panic. Well, more than he already was.

Belladonna frowned at the reaction she was getting, the corners of her mouth dipping downwards and pulling the crinkles around her eyes down too. She scooted over to him, and began to rub his back making soothing noises in the back of her throat. She shushed him, kissing his forehead as she wrapped a comforting arm around his front, trying to calm him down.

Bilbo gasped, his head spinning and a twisting, a sinking feeling filling his gut. Monsters, that’s what Hobbits used to be. Are. Or whatever. Bilbo felt a shiver run down his spine as a feeling of foreboding pattered in his mind. He finally calmed down enough that he could breath easily….or, at least easier.

Belladonna sighed again, seeing the same expression on her son’s face and in his eyes as when she had been told. She felt her heart go out to her son, wanting nothing more than to smile and say he’d be alright, that he wouldn’t have to worry about anything like what had happened to Polo, but she couldn’t. It could happen to her son, the change, and sadly this truth had to be given. “Bilbo, dear, I know that...This is a lot to take in, but just remember, your father and I love you so much, and will never wish for you to get hurt but the truth is, what happened to Polo can easily happen to you. I need you to know this: do not guard yourself, Bilbo, but do not throw yourself away like you throw away your cauliflower; be protective, but not overly so. You can love, but be careful if you do, my son. I don’t want you to feel the change until you are old, and weathered by an age with the love of your life,” she told him softly, smiling as she caressed his cheek when he looked up at her. She kissed his forehead, and said, “Your father should be home soon, want to come help me with supper?”

Bilbo nodded dumbly, following his mother blindly out of his room and into the kitchen.

 

 

Four hours later, supper was ready, but Bungo still wasn’t home. It only took two and a half hours to get to the road leading to Breeland and back if one hurried - which Bungo was wont to do - but still the day continued.. What was left of the sun when he had left had turned into a starless sky, a new moon hanging in the distance.

“I wonder what’s taking him so long…?” Belladonna muttered as she and Bilbo finished setting the table. Bilbo hadn’t uttered a word to her, and she was hoping that once Bungo got home, he could distract their son enough to get his mind off of, well, everything.

Just as she and Bilbo sat down to eat, there was a knock at the door. Belladonna frowned, and placed her silverware back down. She got up and walked to the door. “Hello?”

Bungo rushed in panting, shutting the unlocked door behind himself quickly and putting the seven locks on. "Bar the windows, bank the fires. Blow out any unnecessary lights. I don’t know if I was followed, but we need to move. Now,” Bungo whispered desperately.

“Bungo? What happened?” Belladonna asked, concern wrinkling her brow.

“Don’t ask for an explanation of me, my love, until we do as I have said,” Bungo told her urgently, frightened eyes begging for Belladonna not to pry. “Bilbo, my boy, you know those planks in the spare bedroom, the ones I said I’d use for patching up the garden boxes come this Spring? Go get them, and the nails and hammer near them, my boy,” Bungo instructed his son after he motioned for him to come nearer. Bilbo nodded his head, a question on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth, but closed it not a moment later at the look of rabid fear in his father’s eyes. Bilbo turned, and ran for the equipment his father had asked for.

“Bungo? What’s wrong?” Belladonna asked her husband, following him around as he locked up different windows and doors. Bungo whirled around, and grabbed her by her upper arms, leaning forward as if to tell her something private.

“On my way back I fear I may have been spotted by some of the Orcs. There are so many. Too many. I saw many fires out which I know were not camp fires. I fear we may be in danger,” Bungo whispered.

“What do you mean? They’re here after such short notice?!” Belladonna gasped, her eyes bulging in surprise.

“Shhh! Not too loud!” he hissed, covering her mouth with his hand. “Bell, go take care of the lights around the house. Put out as many as you can before it’s too dark. We will be sleeping in the living room. As a family,” Bungo murmured softly, looking his wife in the eye.

She nodded at him, her mouth set in a grim, thin line, and turned around slowly, facing away from him. She began putting out lights along the hallway. She grabbed a candlestick along the way and walked down the hall, dowsing all other lights in the house. The process was painstakingly slow, especially compared to the thumping of her heart in her chest. Her palms were wet, and the candle slowly slid down her grip. She hissed and cursed when hot wax slid onto her hand.

Bilbo came running by to his father, wooden planks under each arm and held tightly.. “I got the planks, da,” he said nervously as a plank began to slide dangerously out of his arms and close to the floor boards.

“That’s a good lad, now, help your pa out and hold a plank up to a window while he hammers it in,” Bungo stated, giving his son the most encouraging smile he could muster. It looked more like a grimace, then a smile.

Bilbo nodded, looking back at where his mom had been, but she was already gone. He set all the planks down except one and lifted it up, adjusting it to make sure it was in a good place. He nodded his head and looked it over once more, before turning to his father.. He held it across the window, trapping the curtains under it. “Like this, Dad?” he asked.

Using old coals, Bungo Baggins smeared the black and grey dust onto the window, blacking it out and “Yes, now just hold it steady,” his father instructed before he began to nail the plank into the wall around the window. They did this to every window and door, nailing them down and using old coals to black them out before they nailed them. The only door they didn’t nail as heavily was the one that led to the backyard, so they could have access to more firewood.

“That’s a good boy. Now, go help your mom bring all of our bedding into the living room, and close and lock all of the doors to the rooms we aren’t using, understood?” Bungo told his son, hands on his boy’s shoulders. Bilbo nodded, and Bungo smiled softly at him. “That’s my boy. Now go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of stuff was thrown out this chapter so far, yeah? 
> 
> So i gotta thank my friend Akblake some more, 'cause even though i'm editing for her, she's helped me TON. She's helped me flesh out some ideas, and has done little edits whenever i need it. (psssssttt, check her out; she's awesome!)
> 
> I also gotta say thanks to my Beta, for being patient with my one sentence a week quota I've seemed to pick up o,o' Check her out---InsanitysxCreation
> 
> And thanks guys for being so patient ;,; I'll hopefully pop the other half out soon(meaning hopefully in two months, i don't know though) hope you guys enjoyed!
> 
> Thanks for all the lovely comments and kudos and stuff guys ;U;;;; it means a ton ^^
> 
> Cheers!


	4. Chapter 1; Home Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enter a Wizard and 13 Dwarrow into the humble home of one very unamused Hobbit.
> 
> Who even throws plates around like that? Heathens, the lot of them!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this?! An update?! Whaaatttt??
> 
> I can't really boast about the quality of the chapter, and it's not all that lengthy, but you all have waited long enough, yeah? If you see any mistakes, do let me know in the comments below!

Bilbo sighed, puffing on his pipe in peace. The day was warm, the sun caressing his curls and his cheeks. Bilbo was pushing fifty, his long life so far was mild at best. Ever since the Fell Winter during his tweens, he had never really been able to completely come back into himself. Much has happened in his life that should have broken him, but the Fell Winter had left the longest impression on his young mind. There was still a long, thick, and angry scar across his stomach and down his legs; a constant reminder that he wasn’t the same. No, he no longer was the same bright, youthful, and curious lad he had been. He had been forced to see the cruelty of the world outside of the Shire, and It had left a taste in the back of his throat.

No one ever blamed him for what happened during the Fell Winter-well, none but Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, but everyone only ever took what she said with a grain of salt, the frumpy harpy wasn’t even worth the skin on her bones-but he knew the stares everyone threw his way were hesitant-as if the others were afraid of him. The only Hobbits who treated him like he was still _him,_ like he wasn’t a monster just about to _snap_ , were Hamfast and his dear wife, Bell. Hamfast took care of his garden, when the sun was too bright and Bilbo was too busy to attend to it. They were good people, and some days he could feel a jealousy in his gut that made bile rise in his throat and turned his veins sour at their happiness that they found in one another.

His teeth clenched around the pipe in his mouth, the sharp points of his canines had already ingrained a comfortable groove into the wood from numerous times he mused himself into a mental fit.

He pulled out his pipe, and breathed slowly, working his jaw in a way that was familiar to himself by now. He rolled his head and shoulders, forcing an explosive sigh from between his lips. He clenched his eyes shut, swallowing past the feeling of spiders trying to crawl out of his mouth. His control was tenuous at best, but it was better then anyone else’s. He has been able to control the Fading in the back of his mind for thirty years, and he’ll continue to do so until his dying breath.

“Well, if it isn’t Bilbo Baggins!” A familiar voice called out kindly, the lilt of his westron grumbling and jovial, his tone promising mischievousness and the _wild_.

He smirked, and breathed in through his nose. “Good morning.”

“What do you mean? Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or is it that you feel good on this particular morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

His eyes flashed red for a blink in surprise, and he grinned. “Gandalf.” He breathed softly, the thrill in his blood soaring at the sight of the man. He could smell the magic radiating off of him-Electric and blue like lightening, and smoky like pipe weed, the Wizard was the same as he remembered. His nostrils flared as he stood up and walked down the short path to meet the man at his gate, his smile positively beastly as joy burnt through his veins. He hasn’t seen the wizard in over twenty years-not since after he had recovered enough to be trusted alone-and he easily let him pass into his territory. “What brings you back to the Shire, Gandalf?” He asked, his own accent soft and teasing, his eyes half-narrowed in content.

“Can I not wish to visit an old friend?” Gandalf asked, the corners of his mouth quirking.

Bilbo huffed and rolled his eyes, before moving aside for the old man. “If you had simply wanted to visit, then you wouldn’t smell of stone and that disgusting dwarven pipeweed we both know you hate. Want to grab your pipe and join me on the bench?” He offered kindly.

Gandalf shook his head fondly, before beaming at him “Do you have any Toby left? I haven’t had any in what feels like an age.” Gandalf asked conversationally as Bilbo led him up the hill that housed his Smial, and to the bench that resided above it.

“Do I have any Toby left,” Bilbo scoffed. “It’s almost as if you’ve never been to the Shire; Of course I have more Old Toby. It’s quite unhobbitish if you don’t have at _least_ four barrels in your cellar alone,” Bilbo sniffed pretentiously, though the act quickly left as he and Gandalf began to laugh. “Under the bench there’s a barrel we can share.” He told him.

Silence settled over them as they got comfortable, Bilbo sighing as he popped his pipe back into his mouth as the wizard stuffed his own and lit it with a finger. Gandalf breathed in, and held it, before letting the smoke out into the air. He hummed softly, resting and letting the tense hunch of his shoulders to completely relax.

Bilbo waited patiently, knowing the old Codger would tell him the _real_ reason for his visit when he was ready to. Bilbo could already smell it on him, the promise of adventure and the _world_. He knew Gandalf had plans that could honestly, probably break him, but the stillness, the calm of the Shire was drugging him, drowning his breath and making him claustrophobic. It made his skin taut and thin, pretending to be something he wasn’t. Everyone was an actor, and the theatrical play they were providing was a song and dance Bilbo had no intention of watching anymore.

His eyes flickered to the Wizard, and found him watching him with a minute crease to his brow. Bilbo in turn raised his own in a silent challenge, daring the Maiar to say something.

Gandalf huffed, and blew out a perfect smoke ring, humming to himself in thought. Bilbo sighed, and sat with him in silence, not so patiently waiting for him to speak.

A good ten minutes passed-Bilbo had, indeed, counted-before Gandalf spoke. “I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure with.”

“Does it involve Orcs?”

“Hmm….most probably, I would say.”

Bilbo hummed in reply, waiting for more details.

“The rest of the journey’s traveling companions will be coming at dinner, I would think.” Gandalf finished.

Bilbo sighed. “And how many should I prepare for?”

“One and three, discounting you and I, I believe.” Gandalf answered breezily.

“Oh for the love of-Gandalf, really? Thirteen? Please tell me they aren’t all your size; my Smial can only hold so many of you big fo-”

“They are all Dwarrow but me, by dear Bilbo, do give me some credit.” Gandalf chuckled. He smirked when Bilbo huffed.

“Well, if you’re here, are you going to help me find the groceries and make the food, hmm?” Bilbo asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Ah, Bilbo, I have some other obligations to attend to before tonight’s meal! Otherwise, I would have happily helped you with preparations.”

“You lie like a rug, Grey beard.” Bilbo growled. “Go on, get, I have thirteen roundy, heathonous Dwarrow, a poor unlucky Gentle Hobbit, and a conniving Wizard to prepare food for tonight, and unless you want to get roped into helping me, you’d better run from my hill.” Bilbo grumped, emptying out his pipe on the ground and stomping out the ashes into the dirt. He shot Gandalf a glare when the old man began to chuckle. “It is not funny. You could have told me at _least_ yesterday, and I would have been better prepared for this feast, but now I may even have to ask poor Bell for help with food preparation if I even want to _wish_ I’ll be ready in time. Not to mention I must clean and dust, and make room for all of their weapons and shoes. And find where in Arda I put all of the table extensions!”

“Are you not going to ask what the journey will be?” Gandalf asked.

“Oh, you must think me a fool if I thought you’d disclose such knowledge. I trust my-could be-traveling companions will tell me just fine. Dwarrow are a blunt people, you know.” Bilbo snipped. He walked down to his front door. “I’ll expect you all at dinner, Gandalf, and not a moment sooner. Good day.” and with that, he entered his home to find a large coin purse, and his various shopping baskets.

Gandalf chuckled, and shook his head fondly. He was quite looking forward to the night; He had honestly thought he’d have to badger and bully Bilbo with surprise guests, but it looked to be that the Hobbit still had some spark left after all. This adventure would be very good for the Hobbit, and most amusing for himself, he believed.

  


Bilbo was a mess.

Flour coated the counters and his clothes. Loaves of bread baked in the oven, which were seen rising slowly in the heat. He was running between the blazing fire in his fireplace where the meats he had out already were being roasted, his stove where the pots and pans sat cooking and sizzling, and the stove that had the bread baking. His usually pristine curls were mussed and messy, coated in flour, his usually pristine appearance completely destroyed from his mad cooking. Flour and dough covered his clothes, and he had taken off his vest and was wearing his white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, with his suspenders hanging by his thighs. What she thought was chocolate had been streaked over his brow, and the male Hobbit was muttering to himself most angrily as he floured a pie pan, grabbing the dough set beside it and beginning to flatten it into the pan.

“Mr. Baggins!” Bell gasped in shock. Her husband had told her the mast of bag end had needed her help, and the disarray she now finds him left her shellshocked to say the least.

Bilbo whirled around at her proclamation, and smiled what looked like a grimace at her. “Bell! That Eru you’re here! Grab an Apron, we don’t have much time to spare; There’s a basket of forty potatoes that need to be washed and quartered before I can mash them!” His voice was nearly hysterical, and she set her face into a determined line.

“Don’t you worry, Mr. Baggins, not one bit! We’ll get this all sorted so fast those Took’s down in Tookborough will get whiplash!” She marched over, taking off her shawl and tying her hair up. She saw her Hamfast outside, coming up the Hobbit’s slope to come and help with setting up the dining hall, and grinned as she set to rolling up her sleeves as well.  
  


“Now, Mr. Bilbo, if ya need anythin’, anythin’ at all while them Dwarves are a visitin’, you let me and my Bell know, you hear me? She’ll come on over an’ box their ears until they’re in shape, don’t you worry.” Hamfast said sternly as he put on his hat. Bell had already gone home to wash up, and it was just the two of them now, and Mr. Baggins was kind enough to show him to the door.

“Thank you, Hamfast. I truly appreciate the help you both gave me today.” Bilbo grinned widely, patting his good friend on his shoulder.

“Now, don’t you go a thankin’ us for just helpin’ you out, Mr. Bilbo. We were happy to help.” Hamfast grinned back. He waved, as he set out down the cobbled path that led to the front gate to Bilbo’s home. The sun was just starting to set, and it was almost Dinner. “See ya later, Mr. Bilbo.” He called out as he left out the gate and whistled on his way home.

Bilbo closed his front door, and slumped, exhausted. He was honestly completely grateful for the Gamgee’s help. He was going insane with trying to keep up with the meal preparations right before they had entered his Smial, and now the only thing left to do was set the table. Hamfast had helped him find the table’s inserts that elongated it, and somehow they were able to scrounge up fourteen normal sized chairs, and one large one for Gandalf. The food was all in the kitchen, ready to be set upon the table, and he wiped his brow in relief. He stood, and placed his hands on the small of his back, arching forwards and feeling a satisfying ‘pop’ along his spine. “Bilbo, old boy, I do believe you have outdone yourself with this venture. Even the Tooks would be amazed!” He chuckled, shaking his head.

He sighed, and walked to his bedroom, throwing open the door grandly. He walked to his wardrobe, and grabbed new trousers, another cotton shirt that was cream colored, and his suspenders his mother had gotten from a dwarven man years ago on her travels and had given to Bungo for a present. They were dark blue, with gold knotwork sewn into them, and they attached to your pants with fine golden clasps that had small, orange stones in the center of them. They were very.... _detailed_ for most Hobbits’ tastes, but he felt them most appropriate for the moment, with whom his guests were going to be. He walked to his bathroom, and quickly drew a bath, scrubbing quickly and efficiently.

He was done in record time-ten minutes-and had finished just finished combing out the hair on top of his feet, when there was a loud knock on his door. Towel wrapped around his shoulder, he breathed deeply and got up, walking to his green door.

With a deep inhale, he opened it, nervous but not showing it. When he opened the door, a tall, burly dwarf stood outside his Smial. The top of his head was bald, save for the ring of hair that circled it. His beard spiked out at the sides of his cheeks, and his nose had obviously been broken once or maybe thrice.

“Dwalin, at your service.” His rumbling voice said, bowing his head slightly.

The Hobbit bowed back respectfully and stammered out “B-bilbo Baggins, at yours Master Dwarf....I take it the rest of the group will be arriving at separate intervals?” He moved aside for him to come in. “Please, come in. Put your weapons on the rack, and leave your shoes by the door if you’d be so kind. I’ll take your cloak.” Bilbo instructed, holding out his hands for his cloak. The dwarf looked at him with a raised brow, but did as told. He hung his cloak into the closet, as he heard him shuffle as he took his weapons and shoes off.

“Ye, they’ll be ‘ere when they find the place.” Dwalin answered as he stood, his bare feet appreciating the cold of the floorboards beneath them. The night was hot, and he felt marginally better to see the Hobbit was different then the others he had seen on his way there. Oh, this Mr. Baggins was certainly nervous, but instead of treating him with suspicion, the Hobbit had simply invited him in, and had even given him a proper introduction. “Where is it?” He asked. The hole smelt heavenly; he could smell meats and bread among other things, and his stomach growled in hunger.

“Ah, Master Dwalin, I believe it would be best to wait to eat until the others arrived, but I have some fresh crackers, cheese slices, and cold cut meats from this morning’s shopping we can snack on whilst we wait. I have found it daunting trying not to devour all of the food I’ve prepared whilst waiting on you all to arrive.” Bilbo said sagely.

Dwalin approved of him greatly; he was well prepared. He began to follow the Hobbit, before pausing “This morning’s shopping?” He inquired.

“Gandalf decided to tell me an hour before Luncheon I would be having thirteen dwarrow guests, a Wizard, and myself for dinner tonight, and be hearing of some adventure or another.” Bilbo shrugged.

“He did no’ tell ye our purpose?!” Dwalin asked dubiously.

“The old Cod wouldn’t tell me even if I had asked; I simply stated I’d wait to know what it was you all needed of me when you lot got here.” Bilbo waved dismissively. “Tea, water, or mead?”

“Mead.” And with that, the two sat in front of the fireplace and enjoyed the meats and cheeses the Hobbit had prepared for them to eat upon whilst they waited. Dwalin had learned the Hobbit hadn’t much left the Shire but for a few walking holidays, and used his mother’s old crossbow and father’s sword when hunting for food if he needed it. Dwalin had surprised himself when he shared that he was a guard in the Blue Mountains and trained the new men they recruited, and talked proudly of Grasper and Keeper.

 

 

The Hobbit was telling a ridiculous tale of some of his relatives attempting to steal a freshly made pie of his, when there was another kno0ck at the door. They both stood, and Bilbo answered the door to see a stout, white haired dwarf on his doorstep. His beard forked and curled past his stomach, and Bilbo bowed in respect to the elder dwarrow. “Bilbo Baggins, at your service Master Dwarf.” 

“Balin, at yours Master Baggins.” Balin replied, bowing as well.

“Do come in.” Bilbo grinned. This dwarf had a soft voice with a lilting accent, and a kind face. He reminded Bilbo of his grandfather, and he immediately knew he’d like the dwarf.

Before he stepped into his Smial, Dwalin said from behind Bilbo “Take off yer boots and mount yer weapons on the rack. Cloak in the closet.” The white haired dwarf’s eyebrows both went up in surprise, but complied nonetheless.

“Looks like you were able to domesticate my younger brother, Master Baggins, as feat in of itself!” Balin chuckled, shaking his head fondly as he bent over to take off his shoes. When he had everything take care of, he approached his brother with a smile.

“Looks like yer both shorter and wider then last we met.” Dwalin said with a lot of snark.

“Wider, not Shorter, but Sharp enough for the both of us.” Balin winked. They grasped each other's shoulders, and bonked heads, grunting and smiling at one another.

The loud crack made Bilbo wince, but other then that he didn’t show any outward reactions to the two. “Come, I’ll show you where we will be waitin’ on the others, and we can grab some mead for you as well.” Dwaling grinned, throwing an arm around his brother and leading him towards the living room. Bilbo grinned gratefully at the dwarf, and went to grab more meats.

He had just handed the meats over to the two Dwarves, Balin smiling thankfully as he talked, before there was another knock. Bilbo excused himself, and answered the door, he opened his mouth to introduce himself, but was stopped when the young dwarves in front of him grinned and said- 

“Fili-

“And Kili-”

“At your service.” With a deep bow that _must’ve_ taken practice to get down in order for them to do it at the same time, height, and length.

Bilbo blinked in surprise, and opened his mouth again to reply but was shoved out of the way by the eager young lads. The blond one grinned and deposited his swords and cloak onto Bilbo, saying “Don’t drop those; I just had them sharpened.” Bilbo sputtered indignantly.

“Fili! Look at all of this _food!”_ His brother yelled from the kitchen.

“W-wait! You can’t eat it ye-” Bilbo plopped the weapons and things to the ground, chasing after the boys. He heard a yelp, and walked into his kitchen to see Dwaling holding both boys by their ears.

“Ye both know better’n that.” Dwalin growled. He dragged them by Bilbo, and deposited them by their heaps of things. “Shoes. Off. Weapons, on the rack. Cloaks hung up in the closet. Dís would be embarrassed by yer antics.” He scolded. The boys both were rubbing their ears with winces on their faces, but did as was told.

“Thank you, Master Dwalin.” Bilbo sighed. He stared at the two young boys, who smiled sheepishly up at him.

“Apologize te Master Baggins. He ain’t yer maid.” Dwalin growled, crossing his arms and staring the boys down easily.

“We’re so sorry, Master Boggins!” The brunette said.

“Yeah! We didn’t mean any insult, honest!” The Blond added. Both bowed respectfully, before picking up their things and doing as told by Dwalin.

Balin was at his side, chuckling as he watched his brother corrall the young men. “Looks like you’ve gotten my brother’s respect, Master Baggins. What on earth did you do to get it? No offense, of course.”

“I haven’t the Slightest clue, if I’m completely honest Master Balin.” Bilbo chuckled, shaking his head, just as confused as the older Dwarf.

Dwalin had somehow herded the two young dwarves into the waiting room, both sitting on the ground with cheeses and meats resting on both of their knees, respectively. They would grab from the other if they saw something they wanted, and easily shared one another’s space. He could see immediately that the two boys were brothers, and found himself smiling softly as they talked animatedly with the other two dwarves. He was _just_ about to sit, when there was a ringing at the door.

“I get the feeling I should just stand by the door, you all are coming so much more frequently now.” Bilbo huffed. Balin chuckled at his sarcasm, and watched the Hobbit leave to get the door.

“The lad has a sharp wit.” Balin said conversationally to the other three.

“Aye.”

“Let’s just hope Thorin remembers his court manners.”

“Aye.”

Fili and Kili looked between each other, talking with only their eyes. They hadn’t a clue what the two older dwarves meant. They honestly thought Bilbo was tough, for a Hobbit at least, but didn’t know how they’re Uncle could scare him off.

They all heard the door open, and a crashing sound of many bodies falling to the floor, followed by groans and someone yelling about an elbow to the gut. “It would seem the rest o’ the group has arrived.” Dwalin snorted, standing from the plush armchair he had laid claim to. The four of them entered the front hall to be greeted to the sight of eight dwarrow piled atop one another, and Gandalf leaning in with a knowing grin. Bilbo was staring at the wizard very unimpressed, tapping a furred foot on the floorboards while his hands rested on his hips. An exasperated sigh left the small creature’s lips, and he threw up his hands into the air as he stomped down the hall. “Dwalin! Get the boys settled, I’m going to set the table.” The Hobbit called out over his shoulder, and Dwalin snorted at the command. Yes, the Hobbit will fit in just fine with their group.

Hopefully Thorin didn’t botch it up.

  
  
  


Dinner was a disaster. Bilbo had been hiding his face in his hands for the past ten minutes, unable to watch as the dwarrow threw food and cutlery alike at one another. All objections he voiced aloud had gone unheeded, and even his new ally in Dwalin proved useless when he himself-begrudgingly-joined in on the antics Bilbo was _certain_ started with-oh, drat, what was their names? Filip and Kelp? Oh bother it all, he’ll learn them soon enough. And don’t even mention the smug wizard next to him that just _knew_ his weak spots. The old codger Had no right to look so damnably _happy_.

_“Blunt the knives bend the forks-”_

Bilbo groaned as the younglings began to sing that _dreadful_ song. Again. It was about the fifth time this evening that they all had broken out into the stupid song, and Bilbo could feel his patience wearing thin.

Before he could heave the hundredth long-suffering sigh of the evening, a heavy knocking banged his door. Immediately, The singing stopped, and like a spell had been cast, everyone was in their seats, eating quietly. Bilbo looked up from his hands, and shot a glare at the blond and brown haired dwarrow, who oh so _sweetly_ smiled at him as he stood to go and bring the late-comer into the hectic festivities that the dwarves had thrust upon him.

He opened his green round door, his face showing his exasperation, before he turned to look at the newcomer, Gandalf right at his heels.

Standing on his doorstep was a very _handsome_ dwarrow. His green eyes widened, and he straightened his shoulders, standing up  immediately. The Dwarf held himself regally, like, well, like a _king_ . _‘Of course he would, didn’t Dwalin say something about him talking with kin somewhere or something?_ Bilbo thought dazedly. His breath stuttered as the dwarf turned and looked at him, his black beard cropped short, his long, wavy dark hair streaked with silver and framing his face beautifully. His eyes were as blue as the forget-me-nots that covered his parent’s graves up by the birchwood tree at the end of his hill, and Bilbo honestly forgot how to _breathe_ at the sight of him in his furs with the moon shining behind him like a God’s-damned halo, the stars accenting the god-like scene. 

Then he opened his mouth, and the illusion of a god amongst common men was gone like a fart in the wind.

“Gandalf,” The dwarf began, his low tenor of a voice melting Bilbo’s swooning maiden of a heart for but a moment, before it hardened like hot iron in water at his next words “I thought you said this place would be easy to find...I lost my way. Twice,” He commented idly. He bowed his head to the dwarves in the dining room as he continued “I wouldn’t have found it at all, if not for that mark on the door.”

“What mark on the door? There’s no mark on the door, I just had it repainted last week-” Bilbo began to protest.

“There is, indeed, a mark on the door. I placed it there myself earlier in the day,” Gandalf said, closing the door as the newest guest took off his cloak and handed it to the brunette youngling. “Bilbo Baggins, If I may introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

“So, this is the _Hobbit_ .” He remarked, his emphasis on Hobbit seeming to convey the thoughts he seemed to already harbor for Bilbo. “Tell me, mister _Baggins_ , have you done much fighting? Axe or Sword, what’s your weapon of choice?”

Bilbo’s hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and he suddenly felt like prey as the Dwarf circled him. “Not in recent years, no, but I know my way around a crossbow and a sword, Master Dwarf.” Bilbo replied primly, glaring defiantly at him when he came back to his front. Bilbo crossed his arms, and quirked a brow in challenge. He could practically hear Gandalf’s eye-roll at his manners.

“Surprising news, coming from someone who looks more like a grocer, then a burglar.” Thorin said, a finite twitch at the corner of his mouth belaying his amusement. The others chuckled behind him, and Bilbo shot them all a very _not impressed_ look. They all ducked back into the dining room, as Bilbo flickered his green eyes back to the Dwarven king.

“There’s food in the Dining room, if the others bothered to leave anything for you-if they didn’t, I can see if I can scrape up something for you from whatever’s left in the stores.” Bilbo told the dwarrow, brushing past him to see exactly what had been left. Precisely enough for two bowls of the cabbage and turkey potato stew was last, one roll, and a generous helping of corned beef and some blackberry cobbler were already waiting at the head of the table for Thorin. “Looks like they left you more than scraps.” Bilbo uttered, before turning back around.

Thorin sat down at the table, and began eating his soup, and the others sat in silence for but a moment, before Balin asked “Any news from the meeting in Erid Liun? Did they all come?”

“Aye, envoys from all seven kingdoms.” At this many at the table chuckled, and Thorin’s mouth quirked slightly at the joke.

“What did the dwarves of the Iron Hills say? Is Dain with us?” Dwalin asked.

At this, the smile and mirth slipped from Thorin’s face, and he sighed. “They will not come,” He announced softly. Groans went across the table, before he continued. “They say this quest is ours, and ours alone.” a few more groans, and a gasp or two, before Bilbo quirked his head to the side in curiosity.

“You’re...going on a quest?”

“Bilbo, my dear fellow. Let us have a little more light,” Gandalf asked. Bilbo nodded, and left to go grab an extra candle. Gandalf grinned, and pulled out a parchment of paper. “Far to the East, over ranges of rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a solitary peak.”

“The Lonely...Mountain.” Bilbo read aloud, from the paper, holding the candle above so he could see the parchment below.

“Aye. Oin has read the portents, and the portents say it is time-” Gloin began, the dwarf next to him-Nori? Dori? The eldest Ri brother-groaned and shook his head in disgust.

“-Ravens have been seen returning to the mountains as it was _foretold_. ‘When the birds of yore return to Erebor, The reign of the beast, shall end.” Oin finished for his brother.

“What...beast?” Bilbo asked.

“Oh, that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible, chiefest and greatest calamity of our age,” The one in the funny hat said, his voice cheery. “Airborne firebreather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks, extremely fond of precious metals-”

“Yes, I know what a _dragon_ is.” Bilbo interrupted, having already handed the candle over to Gandalf, he was weaving his fingers together and apart slowly over and over as they talked. 

“I’m not afraid of him! I’ll give him a big ol’ taste of dwarfish iron right up his jacksie!” The one in the knit sweater proclaimed proudly, standing up as he did so.

Others cheered around him, but the elder dwarf beside him hissed “Sit down.” As he pulled him down and back into his seat.

Balin spoke over everyone’s voices, saying “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us, and we only number thirteen...and not thirteen of the best, nor brightest.”

What followed that was loud bickering and shouting, until the brunette youngling shouted “But you all forget we have a wizard with us! Gandalf must’ve fought and killed _hundreds_ of dragons in his life!”

Gandalf sputtered at this, whilst Bilbo openly laughed-behind his hand, of course.

“Well? How many have you killed?” Someone demanded. Gandalf coughed, keeping his silence, which spurred the dwarves into arguing.

Loudly.

Thorin shouted something, and stood from his seat, the chair scraping against Bilbo’s hardwood floors. _Oh, that’ll leave a mark._ He thought blithely just as Thorin said “If we have read these signs, do you not think others would have read them too? Rumors, have begun to spread. Smaug hasn’t been seen for sixty years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people lies unprotected; do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we take this chance, and reclaim Erebor?!” Thorin vocalized, making most of the others cheer with him. He said something in that guttural language again, and Bilbo shivered at how low his voice became.

The others began talking again, and scheming, but Bilbo tunned out for a moment. His eyes were on the map, and something... _primal_ shivered at the thought of a dragon-and not in a bad way. It was disconcerting, to have his more… _instinctive_ side stirring so much in one day, like it could sense he was going on a fool’s journey. A thought entered the back of his mind, and he firmly ignored how it hissed about letting the rage go, and reuniting with another more hungry servant. Something about a key and an obvious statement from someone on the opposite side of the table saying “If there’s a key, there must be a door!” snapped him from his musings. Seriously, the intelligence in this group was just _astounding_.

Bilbo was just _thrilled_ for the journey to start.

“And that’s why we need a burglar!” someone exclaimed.

“And an expert one at that, I’d wager.” Bilbo agreed, nodding his head sagely.

“And are you?” The red haired one he vaguely remembered saying his name was Gloin, asked him.

“Am I what?”

“Hear that? He said he’s an expert!” The one with the ear trumpet crowed.

 _Oh, bugger it all_. Bilbo thought in exasperation as almost all of them broke out into cheers.

“Balin, the contract.” Thorin grunted. The elder dwarf passed it to the king, who uncaringly shoved it back, hitting Bilbo in the chest as he returned to his dinner.

Quickly, Bilbo grasped it, and opened it up, his brow furrowing in confusion. “And what is this?”

“It's just the usual; summary of out-of-pocket expenses, time required, remuneration, funeral arrangements, so forth.”

“Funeral arrangements?” He began to read the contract, scrunching his face as he went. “Up to but not exceeding one fourteenth total profit if any...Seems fair...Present company shall not be liable for injuries including but not limited to laceration, evisceration... incineration?”

“Oh, aye. He’ll melt the flesh right off your bones in the blink of an eye.” funny hat quipped up happily.

“You alright, laddie?” Balin asked when Bilbo’s eye twitched.

“Oh, fine. I just notice how this only talks of Smaug and the damages he’ll cause, but not about if we run across, oh I don’t know, bandits, or orcs. Seems a bit optimistic to only talk about the end of the journey, and not about the possibilities of things in between the start and end.” Bilbo snarked. 

“Oh, Mister Baggins, ain’t no bandits goin’ te mess with thirteen dwarrow and a wizard, unless they’re just dead in the brain.” funny hat chuckled. He had a nice chuckle, Bilbo noted idly.

“And what of Orcs?” Bilbo asked, making sure to get his point across. “It seems foolish to me, to not expect to run into troubles along the way. In my experience, nothing goes as planned, and you should always be prepared for the worse.” He looked right at Balin as he spoke, his voice cold and calculating. “I don’t care about payment, or reimbursement, Master Balin, I care about preparedness. I know this is no walking holiday, but you don’t live as long as I do without becoming a bit more realistic with your expectations.” He finished. The younger dwarves looked confused, but Dwalin looked at Bilbo with respect as he leaned back in his chair and nodded his head in agreement.

“The lad’s right.” was all he said.

Balin sighed, and suggested “If you would like, we may go over the contract together, and add and fix things as you see fit?”

“What a wonderful idea.” Bilbo drawled. Thorin was tense in his seat, as Balin stood and left with the Hobbit. He glared at Gandalf, who had a sad quirk to his lips.

 

“What was that about?” He demanded as the others got up from the table as well.

“What was what about, Thorin?” Gandalf returned.

“The Hobbit.” Thorin ground out.

“Ah, simply Bilbo being thorough, is all. He’s right you know, can’t expect no troubles on the road to Erebor, after-all.” Gandalf quipped, before he too stood and left, leaving Thorin alone with the rest of his dinner. He glared at his food as he ate, stuck between annoyed, and impressed.

 

  
An hour later, Bilbo and Balin left the study, the contract signed and the older dwarf patting his shoulder companionably as he continued on his way to show the contract to Thorin. Bilbo bee-lined for Gandalf, exasperation and fondness radiating off of him. “I’m beginning to think you did this on purpose.” He started.

“What on Earth are you talking about, my dear friend?” Gandalf asked.

Bilbo did the adult thing, and blew a raspberry at the old Codger. “Sacred homeland lost to tragedy, woe-is-my-family, death, unlucky odds, you _planned_ this.”

“My dear Bilbo, you are beginning to sound like your mother.” Gandalf admonished.

“And you, you old bat, planned this to sound like those old books I used to read. I’ll make you rue the day you told me about this.” Bilbo smirked.

“My dear friend, I already do.” Gandalf chuckled.

Bilbo sighed then, and rubbed the back of his neck. Quietly, he uttered out “I...think mother would be excited.”

“Oh, my dear boy, she would be thrilled, and your father would be crying in shame.”

Bilbo snorted and turned to the hall. “Well, I’m going to my room, do make sure they don’t destroy my home. I have a long journey to pack for.” and with that, he was gone.

Thorin had heard and seen the whole ordeal, and he frowned. He turned, and walked to the sitting area the other dwarves were using. He stared into the fire, as he pulled out his pipe. Filling and lighting the polished stone pipe, and taking a drag, he blew out the smoke and relaxed. 

He opened his mouth, his mind swirling with the day’s events, and he began to sing;

 

_“Far over the Misty Mountains cold,_

_To Dungeons Deep, and caverns old…”_

  
  
  
  
  
  


 

_“Deep in the darkness of your mind, it’ll stay_

_Burning and Breathing_

_The_ _Breitha hîn_ _is waiting_

_For you to break.”_

  
**_The Broken Child, By B.D.B_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to type this as fast as I could, since it's not enough turn around time for my poor Beta who is ever patient and kind! She saw about the old beginning it had, before I plundered and changed that! She is such a great gal, guys, and if you haven't given her any love, you really should. (InsanitysxCreation) All mistakes are my own, but in order for me to get this to you guys asap, my fantastic best friend beta'd this for me, even though she isn't a fan of this fandom!
> 
> Thanks for the lovely comments, kudos, and patience! I know what it's like when you have that story you enjoy, and the author drops! I won't drop this story, I love it too much to do such a horrid thing(This story is my babe) so don't worry about abandonment! 
> 
> Thanks again guys! See ya next update!

**Author's Note:**

> The literal translation of the Sindarin used, ("Breitha hîn") means Broken Children.


End file.
